<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Bodyguard by realjane</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25762417">Bodyguard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/realjane/pseuds/realjane'>realjane</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bodyguard Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Past Abuse, Post-Hogwarts, Prophecy, Soulmates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:23:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>80,734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25762417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/realjane/pseuds/realjane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is in danger. She doesn't know from whom, but she has a pretty good idea why. The only trouble is, the one person that her best friends trust to keep her safe is the one person she cannot trust. Draco Malfoy.</p><p>*on hiatus, in Covid recovery*</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>324</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Hot Dramione Oneshots</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1: Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I own nothing!</p><p>TW: Hermione exhibits signs of past trauma and abuse in the way she responds to Draco being angry in her presence. This will be addressed as the story goes on, and she will be able to work through it. Men shouting/some violence will occur, no abuse of Hermione will happen. She will relive some past traumatic memories, and sustain injury at various points.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>The trouble was that she <em> had </em>the situation under control. </p><p>Really, she did. </p><p>It may have looked like Covington’s wand was in her face, while steam rapidly escaped from his ears, and foul language from his mouth, but--she was handling it. So to speak. Nevermind that the man had grabbed her by the arm and threatened in no uncertain terms that he had had enough of her. She sort of… blocked that part out. The moment his voice raised, Hermione was no longer coherent. Floating in her own fear and an innate sense that there was no walking away from an angry wizard unscathed, even if they were in a crowded Ministry hallway.</p><p>What brought her back to earth was the intervention of a quiet rage with a shock of blond hair.</p><p>Covington’s throat was encircled by fingers large enough to palm a quaffle; pale skin, strong hands, just the sort of build to make a witch duck behind a partition as he passed by on a normal day, and yet… the person in ownership of those hands dwarfed the man in his grasp, speaking words in his ear too low for her to hear. </p><p>She tugged on his arm, for reasons she still didn’t fully understand--<em> stop choking him! </em>--but the intervening man was a behemoth. He easily shook her off. Turns out that ten years had done a lot for the formerly scrawny Slytherin. Trouble was… she hadn’t spoken to him in all that time. Why was he here? Right this second--strangling a man? Where had he even come from? He didn’t work for the Ministry; as far as Hermione knew, he was soaking in gin off the Amalfi coast. Until now. When he was attempting to squeeze the life out of a third tier Auror.</p><p>Still… eventually, when he caught sight of her stricken face, he released him.</p><p>Covington coughed, doubling over. He clutched his neck. </p><p>“What the hell, Malfoy!” Covington staggered away, yanking his tie from his collar. His wand dangled from his fingertips like a snapped rubber band.</p><p>The blond man straightened, but he was panting. He turned towards Hermione and a queer look crossed his face. He stepped into her space, lumbering several heads taller than her--enough that she had to crane her head up to look at him so close, and still she leaned away. His hands floated about her shoulders and then dropped again as she shied away from him.</p><p>“You alright?” His eyes bore into hers intensely, seeking some kind of answer she couldn’t provide beyond a simple nod. Once it was offered, he stood tall again, carding a hand through his hair. He shouldered past her. Off he went. It only took a swift turn of the heel, and he flung himself down the hallway, bedecked in black wool and obviously sweating, to where she knew not.</p><p>Hermione blinked. </p><p>When she sat down at her desk, there was a familiar folded letter waiting for her, sealed in black wax. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> You’re going to pay for that, Mudblood. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>--</p><p>The trouble was, she had a lot of work to do. She had been at it all day. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was trouble stirring. Covington wasn’t the only one with a bone to pick, and in his case, that bone had everything to do with the fact that she was Muggle-born. He brought it up whenever he could. Especially at meetings, when there were enough people around to ensure she wouldn’t speak against him. But his comments hadn’t ever felt dangerous, at least not overtly.</p><p>Which is why she was dumbstruck as Draco Malfoy <em> of all wizards </em> strode into the meeting room, took the empty seat beside her, and glowered across the table at Gerald Covington. The Auror’s neck was purple with finger-marks he hadn’t bothered to hide.</p><p>Hermione already felt cowed to be in Covington’s presence after their confrontation, and the note, but with the blond beside her, she couldn’t curl herself small enough. She folded her arms over her body and gripped her elbows until her knuckles turned white. She barely heard anything as the gathering of wizards and witches was briefed. Instead, she intercepted waves of energy from her left. Part-way through the meeting, Malfoy scooted his chair closer to hers. Hermione balked. She leaned away from him and shot him a side-eyed glare. He didn’t look at her. He was staring daggers at Covington across the table, meeting be damned. In fact, he leaned forward; rucking his cuffs up his forearms, Malfoy braced himself on the edge of the table and flashed a peek of hawthorn wood with a leather-wrapped grip, for all to see. His wand. In a case meeting. <em> What in Godric’s green earth was he doing there? </em></p><p>No one addressed the obvious cross-table posturing. In fact, everyone in the room except for Covington seemed bent on ignoring it. Hermione’s hackles raised ever higher.</p><p>The meeting adjourned and Hermione couldn’t remember a single word that was said--she held a scroll in her hand that was apparently meant to be read in her office, and when everyone else stood from the table, she remained seated. Hermione hoped Malfoy would scamper off from whatever hole he had crawled from, but it wasn’t to be. Covington remained, too. It wasn’t until Covington stood that Malfoy stood. He pressed a hand to the table in front of Hermione, partially concealing her from view. She stared at the skin before her, the way the veins traversed his forearm and pulsed from his obvious tension. </p><p>Covington conceded without a word, rubbing his neck absent-mindedly. He left the conference room. Only Hermione remained, paralyzed in her ball of anxiety, and her surprise protector. He remained standing, but bent over her.</p><p>“He’s scared, now,” Malfoy said frankly. “You won’t see more of him today.”</p><p>Hermione hazarded a glance at him and found his gaze pointed and angry. She cowered under his unblinking stare. Could he just… go away? She let out a long breath.</p><p>“Are you… he didn’t stun you, did he?” Malfoy knelt beside her and Hermione scrambled backwards, nearly falling out of the chair as she stood. His face dropped it’s dark concerned expression immediately. She put the chair between them.</p><p>He brushed off his pants, standing. She realized that he had forgone his outer robes and was merely in a fine high-collared shirt, vest, and trousers. All black. As were his italian boots. It made him look even taller. He certainly had several heads on her, now--</p><p>“How tall are you?” she blurted, against her will. </p><p>His eyebrow lifted in time with the corner of his mouth. “When last I was measured for a suit, I believe I was one hundred and ninety-five centemetres. It depends on whether or not I’m having a good hair day.” He was having an excellent hair day, if he said so himself by the way he flipped it off his forehead. </p><p>Hermione said nothing but her cheeks reddened. She sidled around the chair. The door was a welcome escape that she took readily… only, the click of hard soled boots echoed on the stones behind her. </p><p>He was following her.</p><p>Her heart raced, but Hermione tried to keep her pace even and unhurried, even as the footsteps behind her continued… all the way back to her office. She tried to shut the door in his face but the wizard slid into her office and closed the door himself. He loomed over her once more. Hermione cleared her throat.</p><p>“Can I help you?” She stepped out of his space and behind her desk, where she could at least toe off her mules (which were murder on her heels), and get her head together. </p><p>Malfoy put his hands in his trouser pockets and leaned back against her closed door. Anyone passing by from the outside would see the silhouette of muscled shoulders pressed to the glass. He shrugged, and his face betrayed nothing.</p><p>“I’m waiting on you,” he said, as if that meant anything at all. </p><p>“I’m… I’m sorry?” Hermione clasped her hands together on top of her desk.</p><p>Malfoy rubbed his face and sighed. “I told him this was a bad idea…”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Your boyfriend.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Are you an owl?” He sneered in that all-too-memorable manner that reminded her why she was so unsettled to have him blocking her only exit. “Weasley.”</p><p>“What about him?”</p><p>“I told him,” Malfoy said, pushing off the wall, “that you wouldn’t like this.” Hermione scooted back in her chair and he gestured at her. “You’re bloody terrified of me.”</p><p>She frowned. “What does Ron have to do with anything?” Nevermind that he wasn’t too off the mark about how her stomach was instructing her to <em> flee! </em></p><p>Malfoy sat before her desk. From the wooden chair, he was practically her height--and he took advantage of the equal footing to look her dead in the eye. “Suppose he cares what happens to you. I couldn’t particularly care whether you stepped off a curb and were laid out by the Knight Bus, but--” he shrugged. “There are people in your life who would very much like to see your obituary run in the Prophet tomorrow.”</p><p>Hermione’s heart dropped into her stomach. “Is… is that why you throttled Covington in the hallway?”</p><p>Malfoy propped his head in hand on the edge of her desk. “<em> That </em> I did for free. Even I wouldn’t grab you where anybody is there to witness it! The man has no sense of elegant revenge.” His eyes sparkled with some kind of quiet dare.</p><p>“You’re hoping to… what?” Hermione huffed. Her patience was wearing thin with whatever charade Malfoy was conducting. “Make a fool of me? Teach Covington how to properly torment me, as if he hasn’t been openly trying to destroy my projects for months--”</p><p>“I wish I was jesting. The man wears his loathing on his sleeve. A real man wouldn’t be so callous. Frankly, I’d rather see <em> him </em>strung up like a fool.”</p><p>“Malfoy--”</p><p>“Who could recognize a true tormentor better than I?”</p><p>Hermione studied him. What the hell was his angle? She drummed her fingers on the desk. “Fine. Color me curious.”</p><p>“You want to know why I’m here.” He smiled--the first real smile she had perhaps ever seen from him, at least when it wasn’t a direct result of seeing her suffer as a child. </p><p>“Indulge me.”</p><p>“Protection.”</p><p>“Wh-what?” she stammered.</p><p>“You heard me, Granger.” He stretched his arms behind his head.</p><p>“Protection from what?”</p><p>“Covington, and what I suspect are a host of lackeys who are a genuine threat to you.”</p><p>“...and Ron… hired you?”</p><p>“In a manner of speaking.” Malfoy fished in his pocket and produced a note which had been folded and unfolded so many times that the folds were wearing permanently in the parchment. He handed it over.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Malfoy-- </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> It's time. Like we discussed.Tail Hermione until your trial and I’ll be a witness in your defense. My best bottle of scotch is yours, too. Covington is a problem, likely others. She’ll hate it, but it can’t be me or Harry, our involvement will only draw attention from the Prophet. The way I figure it: Skeeter can’t print anything about you until after your sentencing, per the taboo. It might keep Hermione out of the papers, too.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Shacklebolt knows I’m asking you. You’ll have top clearance as long as you’re with Hermione. You are barred from anywhere in the Ministry other than her floor and the atrium, so don’t try it. Your wand won’t work on Ministry property either, but Covington won’t know that. Be your usual charming self.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Do what you have to do. Short of murdering someone in public, if you please? </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Don’t tell her why you’re doing it. I don’t want her to be alarmed. I’d rather she be annoyed with you than scared. I'll explain everything when I go see her this week.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Cheers, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Ronald Weasley </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Hermione’s face turned beet red. “You failed your first task, Malfoy. You weren’t supposed to tell me.” She felt her anger swiftly bubbling to the surface.</p><p>“I know you well enough to know that you need all the facts if you’re going to agree to something.” He took the letter back and returned it to his pocket, safely folded.</p><p>“Ah!” She laughed. “You think I’d actually agree to letting you ‘tail me’? As if I want you within ten kilometres--”</p><p>“Don’t be stupid, Granger.”</p><p>“Stupid? I remember who you are!”</p><p>“<em>Was,” </em> he said evenly. “You don’t know me from Adam.”</p><p>“I know enough.” Hermione stood abruptly but she upset a host of papers onto the floor. </p><p>Malfoy rolled his eyes and swiped them up again, gathering them in his massive hands and tapping them into order on the desk. "There's a letter waiting for you at home from Weasley," he said, "confirming what I've told you. He owled me earlier to give me a heads up." A small folded note escaped from the pile and he frowned. He opened the note before she could stop him.</p><p>A look crossed his face that made Hermione gulp. When he looked at her, his grey eyes were ablaze. He leaned forward so his face was centimetres from hers.</p><p>“When did you get this?” he asked. His breath ghosted across her face.</p><p>Hermione shivered. “After the spat with you and Covington.”</p><p>Malfoy stuck the note in his pocket. “I’ll be right back.” He strode for the door and Hermione squeaked. She raced around her desk and pushed herself between him and the door. “Move.”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“I have to finish strangling the life from his skinny gullet--”</p><p>“You’ll make it worse!”</p><p>“Granger, <em> this </em>is why I’m here--”</p><p>Her hands slapped his chest and she tugged on his vest sharply. “Please, Malfoy. Don’t. It’s not the first and it won’t be the last. I can handle it. They’re just notes, nothing more.”</p><p>“Show me.”</p><p>Hermione realized she was holding onto him for dear life--<em> Malfoy! </em>--and took her hands back. She stepped around him. From the bottom drawer of her desk, she produced a stack of notes, all with broken black wax seals. A stack so tall she had to hold it in both hands. The sound of the stack falling on the desk made a cruel smack.</p><p>He shook his head.</p><p>He kicked her filing cabinet.</p><p>He turned away from her and his fingers tangled with his once-perfect hair.</p><p>His shoulders hiked up to his ears.</p><p>“Get your cloak.” He spoke so softly that she barely heard him.</p><p>“What?” Hermione had wedged herself as far away from him as she could while he exercised his rage over the stack of notes. She peered at him over her hands, which were covering her face. He wheeled on her but froze as soon as he saw her cowering.</p><p>He adjusted his stance, at once letting his hands fall to his sides. Malfoy shook his head again. </p><p>“I’ll get you home, Granger.” His voice was calm, measured--as if he hadn’t just made a boot-shaped dent in her cabinet.</p><p>“You don’t need to,” she peeped. </p><p>“I do.” He pointed to the stack of notes. He pointed to her. “You’re in danger. You’re so afraid that you’re becoming one with the wallpaper.”</p><p>“T’would help if you didn’t… kick things.” She straightened a bit. </p><p>Malfoy nodded once. “I apologize. I will be composed from now on, I see how it bothers you.”</p><p>“You will…?”</p><p>“I will. Get your cloak.”</p><p>Hermione was so confused that all she could do was obey the firm instructions and fasten her cloak at her neck and keep him in her sights. He had resumed the position of hands-in-pockets, but his face no longer hinted at his enjoyment to see her squirm… nor did he look angry. He looked intensely serious. And he was looking right at her like if he blinked, she would escape. Malfoy nodded to the door.</p><p>She silently padded to the door and then remembered her shoes beneath her desk. Hermione hurried and retrieved the infernal shoes, and then thought better of leaving the notes out in the open. Before she could dump them back into the drawer from whence they came, Malfoy took the stack and deposited it in a paper back, which had once held her lunch for the day. He nodded to the door again. She obeyed.</p><p>Hermione locked her office and made her way to the lifts. Malfoy was at her elbow. Bloody hell, but he was a giant. He ducked his head to enter the lift. Several other witches and wizards already occupied the compartment but they huddled together to give the imposing wizard a wide berth. He reached around her and pressed the button for the atrium, at once enveloping Hermione in the scent of his cologne. She hadn’t noticed it before, but then again, she hadn’t been breathing much since he barged into her office. Cedar, and spice. Clove, maybe. It only made her more anxious, knowing what he smelled like. </p><p>When the lift reached the atrium, Hermione disembarked and her shadow followed. She paused before the hearth she usually chose to floo home. “Go on,” he murmured, followed by: “What the hell are you looking at?” which was grunted at a passing witch, who seemed to have been waiting for the use of that particular hearth. “Granger. Go.”</p><p>“You can’t come home with me,” Hermione insisted.</p><p>“And yet, I must.”</p><p>“I can think of a million reasons why not.”</p><p>“I have a stack of threatening notes that say otherwise.” His palm found her shoulder and he gave her a shove. “I’ll follow.”</p><p>“What if you’re the one trying to hurt me?” She looked at him over her shoulder. </p><p>“If it were, you would know by now.” Malfoy reached for the bowl of floo powder and scooped up a heaping handful of the magical soot. He grabbed her wrist, prying her fingers open. She allowed him to pour some of the powder into her palm. “Let’s get a move on.”</p><p>Hermione stepped into the hearth and tossed her powder to the ground. The green flames leapt around her as she announced her destination. She felt silly all of a sudden, shouting <em> my house! </em> while making eye contact with Draco Malfoy, but the feeling lasted but a moment as she hurtled out of her own hearth. Moments later, the man in question gracefully stepped out of the green flames behind her. Hermione catapulted herself across the living room and put at least the sofa between them. His hair grazed the low ceiling of her cottage. She stared at him. </p><p><em> What now?  </em>Sure enough, just as Malfoy had said, there was a letter sitting on the coffee table with Ron's hasty lettering scrawled across the face. She swallowed hard.</p><p>“You should make sure your wards are current,” Malfoy said.</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>“Tonight.” He gave her a dark look that said he would press the matter further if she pushed back. She rolled her eyes. </p><p>“Fine. I’ll make sure all magical persons are barred, especially former Death Eaters.”</p><p>“That’s for the best. But <em> I’m </em> staying.” Malfoy set the paper bag on her mantle and unsleeved his wand, which made Hermione draw her wand immediately. “Would you relax? I happen to be excellent at setting wards.”</p><p>“I have witnessed you be violent two, almost three times today,” she spat, raising her wand to level with his chest, despite being across the room from him. “I have evidence that someone has it in for me--and once upon a time, that person was <em> you. </em> Excuse me if I can’t ‘relax’!”</p><p>Malfoy huffed. “You may see a lot more violence from me before this is done--”</p><p>“I have seen enough violence from you to fill <em> several </em>lifetimes.”</p><p>He couldn’t have looked more stunned if she had petrified him. He blinked once, twice. Then, he lowered his wand. He hadn’t even realized that he had matched her stance until the force of her words hit him. “This is a bad idea,” he breathed.</p><p>“Finally, something we can agree on.” </p><p>Malfoy set his wand on the hearth, beside the bag. He toed the rug, which was sooty from their arrival. “Granger--” He stopped himself and rubbed his chin. “Bloody hell.”</p><p>She scoffed. “How do you think I feel?”</p><p>He nodded just once. “Listen… I gave Weasley my word. I <em> will </em> tail you, with or without your permission. There’s no getting around that, Granger. And you can hate me all you want--in fact, it’s probably better if you do. It will keep my blood up so I can be hyper-vigilant.” He laughed, but it didn’t quite reach the corners of his mouth. “If you can’t trust me, then trust your friend. If <em> Ron Weasley </em> thinks that I can keep you safe, surely… surely that’s a vote in my favor.” He looked up at her, then, jaw set. “It’s getting dark. You better set the wards, now.” </p><p>Hermione huffed again and pointed at her green-checked chair. “Sit,” she said through gritted teeth. He did so. His legs were so long that his knees were taller than the arms of the chair. He looked like he was sitting in a chair made for a child. She would have laughed if she wasn’t so… shocked. Angry. Fearful… outright.</p><p>She circled her cottage five times; repeating the enchantment in its entirety took almost an hour. The wards thrummed. No one could apparate in or out, and nobody would be able to find her cottage behind the charm unless someone lead them to where she lived--only a few people were privy to that information, anyway, and neither Harry or Ron were about to lead a pureblood fanatic to her door. Other than the reformed one currently sitting in her living room. When she entered the cottage again, his head was laid against the back of the chair. At first, she thought he was asleep, but he lifted his head.</p><p>“Took long enough.”</p><p>“I’m thorough.” She rested against the front door. He flicked his wrist and the locks clicked shut. He wrinkled his nose as if to say <em> not thorough enough. </em>Malfoy picked up the letter from Ron and tossed it to her in a spiral. It landed at her feet.</p><p>Hermione snatched it up. It read thus:</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Hermione--</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Please let Malfoy protect you. I know it's hard, but I'll explain everything. Don't hex him if you can help it. He means well.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Speak soon,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Ron</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Oh, Ron. Whatever he knew couldn't be good. Especially if Malfoy was involved, and if he couldn't at least <em>hint</em> at what he knew in a letter.</p><p>"Did he sign it with love hearts?" Malfoy made a face as if he might retch.</p><p>“All right, listen!” Hermione pointed her wand at him. “If I’m going to agree to this… arrangement… there are going to be some rules.”</p><p>“I’d expect nothing less from you, Granger.” He folded his hands over his chest and waited for her to go on with a smug look on his face.</p><p>“Don’t use your wand here unless it’s necessary.”</p><p>“Oh, to live as a Muggle!” Malfoy clapped his hands.</p><p>“You will <em> not </em>raise your voice to me unless I am currently in danger.”</p><p>“So, like… every waking moment, then?”</p><p>Hermione’s hand twitched and he hissed, shaking his hand where she had just wordlessly cast a stinging spell. “You may yell at me if someone is <em> about to harm me </em>. Otherwise, you’ll speak to me like you actually care about my feelings.” His face twisted as if he was going to offer some snide retort, but he thought better of it as she held up her wand again. “Also? No making fun of my home or the things I own. This is my sanctuary--or it was, until you were in it. No picking on what I eat, or how I go about my life. I’ve worked very hard for all of this. I’ll be damned if you make me feel like I’m worthless.”</p><p>“So, how <em> am I </em> allowed to talk to you, then? Since my primary modes of communication with you are disallowed.” He grinned as she scowled.</p><p>
  <em> “Nicely.” </em>
</p><p>He raised an eyebrow. “Trouble is, Granger… you rely on me, now. So, you may have to put up with some things you just don’t like. Like my shower singing.”</p><p>“I swear--”</p><p>“Oh, go on,” he said, leaning forward and giving her the most innocent of looks. “I’m listening. I promise.”</p><p>“Merlin, Malfoy!” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “This dance between seriousness and teasing is giving me bloody whiplash. Pick one!” He settled on a facial expression that read as slightly flatulent, which she supposed was better than other options, like a dumb smile. She sighed. “When’s your trial?”</p><p>“Three weeks.”</p><p>“Great,” she said. “I’m stuck with you for three whole weeks.”</p><p>“That’s the spirit. If it’s any consolation, I’ll probably be acquitted.”</p><p>She narrowed her eyes. “You get testy with me because you’re losing control--am I right?”</p><p>“You have three weeks to suss that out, Granger,” Malfoy said, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and crossing his ankles. “But for now, I’m tired.”</p><p>“Get your dirty boots off my table!”</p><p>“Go to bed, Granger.” He crossed his arms and closed his eyes.</p><p>Hermione considered hexing his stupid boots right off the table, but she wanted nothing more than a locked door between them. She was too tired to argue anymore, too tired to protest or process anything that had happened in the course of the day to make Draco Malfoy take up residence in her living room. As if she had no choice in the matter...</p><p>But she did have a choice. And she needed to talk to Ron. </p><p>Tomorrow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ron comes to call, and Hermione is forced to reveal herself.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She dreamed of fingers around her neck. Not squeezing--memorizing. Finding her veins, coaxing them to the surface. Encouraging little goose pimples down her back. Short nails, but long fingers. It only took one hand to span her neck. It took less to kill her, in the dream. Every time she looked him in the eye, they flashed green. Instant death. Darkness. Gasping for air… and alive again. Not awake, never awake. Just living, toeing the surface of suffocation with his hand around her neck.</p><p>Escape was impossible, even if she managed brief flashes of lucidity. She imagined her usual comforts. She cycled through them in ever-increasing detail. Sunflowers. Ladybugs. Fields. Sheep. Sunflowers, swaying sunflowers. Ladybugs crawling over the petals, swaying in fields while sheep grazed beside them. Warm sunshine caught in each seed pod at the head of a great stalk, with yellow petals reaching like fingers--the hand found her again. Every time. Pulling her out of the sunlight, into the grave. </p><p>She was lucky if she got a few hours of sleep in total; Hermione awoke for good when the dawn threatened along the horizon as a blue haze, with her sheets twisted around her ankles and a throat so sore it could only have come from screaming in her sleep. </p><p>How long had it been since she remembered a dream? Nightmares were regular things, but she never remembered the contents. Still, staring at her ceiling, with a landscape of cracking plaster, Hermione could clearly remember the grey eyes turning green, and the hand--his hand, with the family ring--reaching for her throat.</p><p>Hermione breathed out slowly.</p><p>The notes totalled nearly forty in all with the arrival of the most recent one. There were at least five different scribes, but they were always sealed with black wax. The seal itself was the image of a human skull, missing a jaw. It wasn’t hard to see the meaning. Silence. Don’t tell what you know. What you <em> think </em> you know. </p><p>But, oh… the things that she knew. Hermione could barely wrap her head around the wealth of it all, the weight of it. Of course it has escalated… she had pushed, like she always did.</p><p>Push, push, push. Badgering the right people for information in a way that wouldn’t draw attention wasn’t easy; with Ron in Transport and Romilda Vane in the DMLE, at least she could illicit vague reports which went unchecked. The rest were more sensitive. It took ages to get through the red tape in Accounts and access expense reports, and the results were difficult to digest, but every fudged number proved that she was on the right path.</p><p>She fucked up asking Justin Finch-Fletchley for help. He was her boss, but he claimed to possess a certain amount of loyalty to the Ministry. All she wanted was an itinerary of the Wizengamot’s meeting with the Konsulstvo, to verify her suspicions. He blocked her request. </p><p>He had to be the leak. </p><p>Hermione sat against her headboard. She fished for her diary in her side table, flipping it to the Kenmare Kestrels bookmark (a limited edition Potter card, for his fifth anniversary with the team and their victory in the World Cup). </p><p>September the fifth, two thousand and eight. Wednesday. </p><p>Bollocks. Three meetings on the docket today. She had been keen on rescheduling her meeting with the Hungarian embassy, but it had slipped her mind. <em> Ten o’clock. </em> Why first thing in the morning? Merlin. Her assistant could surely push it back… no. It wouldn’t do. It was too late, now. Pushing off appointments would make her seem ruffled. She was… but she didn’t want to appear so. Especially after Covington’s attack--</p><p>She cringed.</p><p>Malfoy.</p><p>Draco Malfoy. </p><p>How could she have forgotten? Her head fell back against the headboard. She replayed the events of the previous day, and suddenly her unconscious activities made a lot more sense. That hand, the one that had dared her to breathe before squeezing the life out of her? It was <em> his. </em></p><p>She must speak to Ron.</p><p>Hermione pushed onto her knees and opened the window over her bed. It wouldn’t take Achilles long to notice. He was quite sullen to remain outside at night, but his preening kept her awake, so he slept under the eaves. She scrawled a hasty note on an old page of her calendar (from a brief stretch in June when she had taken holiday and the page was free of notes or appointments) bidding thus:</p><p>
  <em> Ron. Come for tea this morning. As soon as possible. Use your key. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> H </em>
</p><p>The tell-tale chirp of her barn owl sounded over her head. “Good boy,” she cooed. He was a handsome young thing, a gift from Ron for her last birthday after the death of her beloved horned owl, Helen. He liked to nip her fingers, but he was affectionate. She reached up and offered him a scritch beneath the chin, before handing over her missive.</p><p>“Take this to the Burrow, sweet boy.” </p><p>Achilles snatched the makeshift note from her hand after a loving peck. Red blood beaded between her first and second knuckle. She shooed the bird off. The copper taste of the blood when she slipped the finger between her lips was grounding in a way that felt base. Still, she sucked on it until the owl returned with Ron’s answer.</p><p>
  <em> I’m here. </em>
</p><p>She could hear the knock of his heavy fist on her front door almost immediately, and then the rich timbre of his voice as he called out for her. Before she could reply, someone else did.</p><p>Oh, Gods.</p><p>She hadn’t warned Ron… but surely, he expected that Malfoy would follow her home when he insisted that the wizard protect her. She didn’t want to talk to him with Malfoy around. She didn’t even want to face him, but <em> he </em>answered the door. There was no mistaking his low tones. The door shut heavily--why hadn’t Ron used his key like she suggested? </p><p>Hermione hopped out of bed. She couldn’t hear what they were saying. In fact, their voices grew softer as they moved away. They were in the kitchen, as far from her as they could be. She rested her forehead against the door. Fuck. She had warded her bedroom door the night prior, just to be sure that her new companion couldn’t access her while she slept and the beat of the protection spell pulsated against her cheeks. He couldn’t get to her. He couldn’t touch her.</p><p>Except in her dreams.</p><p>--</p><p>Hermione edged along the wall. Their voices remained quiet, calm. It was as if nothing had ever happened to give them pause--as if they were… friends. They clearly had an ease of discourse that came with trust. She had no idea Ron was in contact with him. Let alone… found him a worthy confidant. Maybe she didn’t know Ron as well as she thought.</p><p>Ron. Her boy, her person. She kept things from him… so many. He would forgive her when she told him because he was too good. He would protect her, too. If he trusted Malfoy… </p><p>The conversation became clearer as she rounded the corner, with only a partial wall concealing her from the kitchen. It was Malfoy whose words she heard first.</p><p>“The one she received yesterday is <em> nothing </em> compared to some of the dribble I read.” He sounded angry. “Do her superiors know?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Ron replied. “She only told me about it Monday. She said someone in her office was ‘having a laugh’.” It’s true. She had only told him <em> two days ago </em> about the notes. She knew he didn’t believe her, that it wasn’t worth worrying over.</p><p>Malfoy growled. “I don’t find this--” Something smacked down on the table, “particularly amusing.” The bag. The <em> notes </em>.</p><p>“I wonder how aggressive Covington is to her on a normal day.”</p><p>“It took putting my hands around his neck--”</p><p>“She would’ve told me if things were so bad.”</p><p>“You think so.”</p><p>“I know so. You have no idea what she’s been through.”</p><p>“You didn’t hear her screaming through the night. Has she told you about <em> that </em>?”</p><p>Hermione’s ears filled with a quiet, white roar. He heard her. Screaming. Her throat was raw and he knew why. He, who had terrorized her entire night, <em> he knew. </em> Even if he didn’t know <em> what </em>her dreams contained, he experienced the one part of her dreams that she couldn’t remember--the audible terror of his own actions. </p><p>Good.</p><p><em> I hope he remembers it forever, </em> she thought. </p><p>“My god, Weasley--you’d have pissed yourself to hear it.”</p><p>She couldn’t take it. She pulled her robe more tightly around herself and emerged from behind the wall.</p><p>“Good morning.” Hermione padded into the kitchen. </p><p>Ron’s face twisted into concern the moment he saw her and he opened his arms. She folded herself into his chest, ignoring the other wizard entirely. Home. Home felt like this. Always had. He cupped her neck and tears immediately sprung to her eyes. Fuck. She felt weak to be touched in gentleness but <em> gods </em> if being hugged by someone who loved her wasn’t a heady drug.</p><p>“It’s all right.” He kissed her temple. “It wasn’t your fault. What happened--Covington--”</p><p>She sniffled. “I froze up.” </p><p>“It’s not your fault, ‘Mione.”</p><p>“I did, I just… blacked out.” A hot tear flashed down her cheek. “He could’ve killed me.”</p><p>Ron rubbed her back. “You’re safe.”</p><p>“I’m not though, am I?” She pulled back enough to look at him. He brushed a piece of hair from her forehead. His one dimple, that comforting crook in his smile… his freckles. He was comfort itself.</p><p>He kissed her forehead, once, twice. “Malfoy stopped him. From the sound of it, Covington got the message.” Ron held her cheeks gently and smiled at her, but she could see the concern in his eyes. He glanced at the silent glowering man seated at the table. </p><p>“A lucky coincidence, I suppose.” </p><p>Hermione ventured a look, too. Malfoy’s eyes were diverted. Still, he looked positively feral. It wasn’t luck, was it? Not according to Ron’s note. Malfoy’s attention snapped to her. He extended his arm slowly--his fingers dwarfed a steaming cup of tea. Chamomile. Ron accepted the cup on her behalf and turned the handle to her.</p><p>“Not quite luck,” Ron said. He held out a hand to the unoccupied chair and Hermione sat. She pulled her sleeves over her thumbs. The tea went unsipped. </p><p>Ron leaned against the counter. Hermione realized then that he was wearing a Harpies hooded jumper and denim trousers with his trainers. Quite unlike his normal dress. He must have left the moment he got her note. </p><p>“I sent him.” He nodded to the other man.</p><p>“Yes,” she sighed. “He told me.”</p><p>“Well, I thought you should hear it from me. We have reason to believe that you need protection.”</p><p>“Covington attacking me was your first clue?”</p><p>“It’s not just that. There’s…” he sighed and looked at Malfoy. “I don’t know what I’m allowed to say.”</p><p>The man in black nodded once. When he did speak, he chose his words carefully. “By virtue of my rank, I am... <em> aware </em> of information which puts you at great risk.” He sat forward, elbows braced against his knees. Only then did Hermione realize that he had changed his clothing. How? He brought no bag with him. Instead of his dark wool suit, he wore a ribbed black turtleneck and black slacks. Staring at the side of his head warranted her a peek of a tattoo, creeping from the neck of his shirt and reaching behind his ear. He turned his head and his brows were knitted together. He was waiting. For her. Hermione didn’t know what to say. She was still stuck on the fact that he was <em> there in her house. </em> </p><p>“Hermione?” Ron’s voice was calm. She blinked at him.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Did you hear him?”</p><p>“I… I did.” She cleared her throat. “I’m still waking up, sorry.”</p><p>“We can wait until you’ve had some tea,” Ron said. “This is a lot to contend with first thing in the morning.”</p><p>Malfoy grunted in an obviously disagreeing tone, but he said nothing. Hermione nodded. She took up her cup of tea and drank deeply. The liquid was hot enough to be satisfying, but not enough to burn her tongue; it was indeed chamomile. It could do with some milk. Still. The warmth spread through her body. </p><p>Ron gave her one of his looks. The pitying kind. She gave him a tight-lipped smile in return, but really… he deserved more than her reservations. If only they could speak without the reptilian sidekick.</p><p>
  <em> What to say? </em>
</p><p>Both men settled into a waiting posture, which made self-consciousness creep up her spine until she was downright agitated. Malfoy knew more than he let on. A great deal more. What had he said about it?</p><p>“What do you mean, ‘by virtue of your rank’?” She didn’t look at him but she could tell he bristled. “What do you do?”</p><p>“He works for the Ministry,” Ron said. “That’s known, isn’t it?”</p><p>Malfoy shook his head and shrugged. “Not widely.”</p><p>“But it’s not a… problem. If <em> she </em>knows.”</p><p>It took so long for Malfoy to answer that when he spoke, Hermione winced. “No.”</p><p>Hermione narrowed her eyes. “...The Ministry? In what capacity?”</p><p>“Information.” </p><p>“That’s specific.”</p><p>“Things the <em> public </em>cannot be privy to,” Ron clarified.</p><p>All the hairs on Hermione’s arms stood on end. She set her cup down. This explained everything. How he could waltz into the conference room at almost two meters tall and not be noticed. How he could strangle Covington with no consequences. How he was skilled at wards, and why Ron had mentioned a taboo.</p><p>She really looked at him, then. Hunched over in her kitchen chair, he was exactly the person that she expected him to be--hard and prepared to fight. His hands, those mitts made for destruction, they were clasped.</p><p>He was found innocent of war crimes many years ago, but he still bore the visage of the boy who tormented her as a child. When she closed her eyes, he was her nightmare. He was also her new protector. She would allow complexities in many people, but in him--to know the truth of it. If he was who he said, he contained multitudes beyond her comprehension.</p><p>Keeper of the deepest magic, secrets she could never dream of. Unknown man, unspoken wizard. Free of society’s dissection. Unremarkable because of his title. Important past all understanding.</p><p>“You’re an Unspeakable,” she breathed.</p><p>Malfoy stood, then. He rolled his neck out. Her furniture was clearly too small for him… she wondered <em> where </em> he had slept last night. His legs would’ve dangled over the arm of the sofa, but the floor would’ve been inhospitable. Perhaps he had cast a cushioning charm on the rug and roughed it. But then, he fished in his pocket for something and produced a black cigarette. <em> That’s why he smells like cloves. </em> </p><p>“I’m going to step out.” He nodded at Ron and ducked under the kitchen doorway. The front door opened and shut.</p><p>The room was still thick with unbroken energy.</p><p>Ron sat in the chair Malfoy had just vacated. “If there’s anything you need to tell me that you don’t want him to know, now would be your opportunity.” </p><p>“Ron…” she stopped. How could she explain it, what she had been doing for the last six months? In the span of time it took Malfoy to smoke one cigarette? Her mind whirled with a million topics, but best start with the one at hand. “Do you remember when you found that report that Gerald Covington had been apparating in and out of Russia illegally?”</p><p>Ron’s face went pale. “What have you done?”</p><p>“Why do you assume it’s something I’ve <em> done?” </em> she balked, but there was no hiding from him.</p><p>“Hermione.”</p><p>She sighed. How much could she conceal and still satisfy his concern? “Those occasions weren’t Covington’s only dealings in Russia.”</p><p>“I’m aware of that.”</p><p>“Yes, but you only know when he’s applied for a temporary apparition license. There’s more. He’s been sanctioned by the Konsulstvo.”</p><p>“...and the Wizengamot is unaware,” Ron inferred.</p><p>“Oh, they’re aware.” Hermione bit her lip, as if that action might keep the information from pouring out of her. She begged Ron internally to make the connection himself. He just frowned. If he was thinking about it, his face didn’t show it. <em> Come on, Ronald. </em></p><p>The front door opened and Ron sat back in his chair. “He needs to know.”</p><p>“I can’t tell <em> him-- </em>”</p><p>“He’s a Secret Keeper. He’s the <em> only </em>person you can trust with the whole of it. You shouldn’t even tell me, except that if you don’t, I will go mad with worry.”</p><p>Malfoy returned to the kitchen and the scent of cloves wafted in after him. He looked between the two and put his hands in his pockets. “Well?”</p><p>“She’ll tell you.”</p><p>Her stomach flipped. “Ronald!” Ron gave her a blistering look. “Consider my perspective!” She threw her hands up. “You’re just now finding out about it--but I’ve been dealing with this for six months--”</p><p>“Bloody hell!” Ron pinched his nose. “All the more reason to tell us, now.” </p><p>She was caught. “Only if you tell me what you know.” She leveled her gaze with the wizard she was suddenly expected to trust implicitly with information that had the potential to ruin lives. Malfoy crossed one foot over the other and raised an eyebrow at her. He shook his head slowly. </p><p>“There is much I cannot say.”</p><p>“Tell her what you told me.” Ron folded his arms over his chest.</p><p>Malfoy let out a long breath. “There is a… story about a Muggle-born witch.”</p><p>“<em> Prophecy,” </em> Ron clarified.</p><p>She scoffed. “So, <em> you </em>can say it, but he can’t?” </p><p>“She--” He threw up his hands as if there was no way to get around it. As if it angered him. His grey eyes burned as he took her in. “You are going to bring down the Ministry,” Malfoy said simply. “You, Granger. Lucky you.”</p><p>Hermione’s blood thrummed in her ears. She stood up suddenly--she couldn’t feel the ground beneath her feet, but she floated to her room. She fished the lump from beneath her mattress--a hard-shell case. When she returned to the kitchen, clutching the secret she had been keeping for months, Malfoy was sitting in her chair. She set the case on the table.</p><p>“What is this?” Ron asked.</p><p>“The downfall of the Ministry.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yay! Thank you for reading! </p><p>I'm hoping to update once or twice a week going forward. I have the whole thing mapped out, but we'll see how these chapters take shape. I appreciate you hanging in there with me! Much will be revealed--but if you have questions or quandaries, please feel free to pose them. I'm very receptive to all feedback. I have planned to answer everything in due course.  You never know what might arise! If you've even read this author's note, you're a gem, and I appreciate you!</p><p>Note: The Konsulstvo is the Russian equivalent of the Ministry of Magic, fully named 'Konsulstvo Magii'. </p><p>In the next chapter: What is Draco's trial, if not regarding war crimes? What has Hermione been hiding? What will it be like to go about her day with Malfoy for a shadow?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hermione reveals the contents of the briefcase to Malfoy.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“That little briefcase?” Malfoy’s face fell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s more than it seems. Where did the prophecy come from?” Hermione asked. The blond shook his head. “You can’t say, or you don’t know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He uncovered it, he came to me,” Ron said gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is it, now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy tapped his temple. “Gone. Made sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had a million questions. From whence did the supposed prophecy originate? </span>
  <em>
    <span>After </span>
  </em>
  <span>she decided to pursue this, or before? How had it been concealed in the Hall of Prophecy, and how had Malfoy found it? She remembered the hall vaguely, but she had seen it, once. A decade ago, now. A horrific place filled with images and stories that would be too much for most magical folk to handle. She had helped nearly destroy it, too. The shelves smashed as they ran from the Death Eaters; unrealized prophecies were lost to oblivion as their orbs shattered. Was the prophecy about her one that survived the attack?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Did the prophecy say that she would spend six months clinging to any single piece of evidence, stashing it in her father’s old briefcase? Or, that the whole thing started because she was desperate to understand why the visas of healers from Russia hadn’t been approved--healers who specialized in mind charms, especially reversing </span>
  <em>
    <span>obliviation?</span>
  </em>
  <span> That when she learned it was Covington who blocked it, she was hell-bent on making him suffer just one black mark on his record, and that it had led her down a rabbit hole which would require </span>
  <em>
    <span>Draco Malfoy’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> help to dig her way out again? To destroy a prophecy he was sworn to protect?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What did the prophecy say about grief, and revenge? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Prophecy </span>
  <em>
    <span>aside</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Hermione was not at all convinced that the two subjects at hand could be separated. The prophecy was at the core of the problem. “Covington is trying to warn me off. He’s reckless."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hence the warning notes.” Ron hadn’t read any of those either. He only knew what Malfoy had summarized the contents.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are at least five different writers.” Hermione set the briefcase on the table and flipped the latch. “But I think I’ve at least figured out which handwriting is his.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron shook his head and pressed his hand down on the case. “Don’t open it. I want you to give me a loose--and I mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>vague--</span>
  </em>
  <span>description of what’s in this, and then I’m going to leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know where to start.” Hermione sighed. How could she even sum up what she had uncovered? “Do I tell you what I think it amounts to or what, literally, is inside?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy sneer. “Merlin, Granger. Tell him it’s a collection of </span>
  <em>
    <span>recipes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione glared at him. “It’s complicated. Ron… suffice to say that it’s just copies of reports.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron bowed his head solemnly; she could tell he was thinking back through every instance that she had asked him for a copy of an apparition license or something. He had never questioned her. Besides, it wasn’t suspicious for Hermione to ask him for such things when IMC frequently audited records of foreign visitors to ensure certain conventions were upheld. They both took oaths when they were sworn into the Ministry. How many had she breached by soliciting and concealing records? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably best if you don’t request anything from Transport for a while,” he murmured. “I’ll keep an eye on anything that might help you, suspicious requests and the like, but you lie low. Make it seem like you’ve given up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stood, then. Ron nodded to Malfoy and extended his hand. The other man considered the proffered hand as if it were poisonous, but slowly reached up and clasped it. Sure. Easy, Hermione thought. She had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>keeper now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but it was because she was giving up. No one would possibly take it as a challenge, certainly not the five scribes of threatening notes who watched her every move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron rubbed her arm. “I’m proud of you.” He spoke softly, almost as if he didn’t want Malfoy to hear. Immediately, Hermione’s eyes prickled with tears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should be livid. I... </span>
  <em>
    <span>used you--”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckled. “When you believe in something, Hermione Granger, it’s important. I don’t pretend to understand why you didn’t loop me in from the start, but I trust that you thought it through.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t know what it would amount to,” she admitted. “I’m not sure I do, now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron cupped her cheek. “We’ll figure it out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll owl you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m disconnecting your fireplace from the floo network this afternoon. You’ll be able to get into the Ministry today. From tomorrow on, you’ll have to apparate.” He turned his head to the other man. “We need a safe location, near the Ministry, for the two of you to apparate in and out of.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy grunted. “Consider it done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Ron fished in his pocket and produced a key. He took folded the metal into Hermione’s hand. “Might as well give this back.” His voice betrayed a bit of sadness. “Your wards are strong. Couldn’t let myself in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” She frowned. “I don’t see how my wards would’ve prevented that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do.” Malfoy rose to his feet. “I’ll follow you out.” He brushed past Hermione so closely that she lept away from him. Of course, he had produced wards of his own. She didn’t know why she was surprised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron cast one last look back at her, and she couldn’t help but feel like she had done him wrong. Keeping her secret had been painful. Watching him leave, knowing he was doing so to preserve her secret… it felt like a betrayal of everything they had fought for together. Things were different now. How would </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry </span>
  </em>
  <span>feel if she owled him? She huffed. Harry was busy. In many ways she envied him--not his fame or quidditch career, but the fact that he got to pretend like the most important thing in the world was whether or not he caught the snitch every week. No… that wasn’t fair. He knew the stakes and he took his happiness where he could find it. No one could ever blame him for that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hair on the back of her neck pricked up. “Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people?” Malfoy darkened the doorway. His expression was blank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione pressed her hands to her eyes and rubbed them; her eyelids felt heavy, and the reminder that she hadn’t slept particularly well set in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So. You and Weasley.” He clicked his teeth. “You sure looked cozy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, right. “He’s my best friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanting to fuck you is a top-notch quality in a friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wheeled on him. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need to get control of your temper,” he snickered. “And the rest of your emotions for that matter. You’re too easy to read.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are trying to piss me off! What do you expect?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A lesson, Ms. Granger--” he stepped into her bubble and she gasped, “--from someone who makes a living being unnoticeable. The less you show, the easier it is to disappear. The less you let on, the more likely you are to get the information you want. What am I thinking </span>
  <em>
    <span>right now?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That I’m an idiot and not worth protecting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn,” he said, completely devoid of emotion. “I guess I’ll have to be more subtle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione squeezed her hands so tightly that the metal of the key bit into her skin. But she fixed her expression into a calm intensity. “I thought I asked you to speak to me </span>
  <em>
    <span>nicely?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I agreed to be composed. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She backed away from him, then. Just one step. Measured. At least at arm’s length. Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> arms, not those tree branches masquerading as his arms. He had been almost silent with Ron in her house, and now that Ron was gone… she wished she had never revealed the existence of the briefcase, or any of her suspicions, just played dumb and asked to be moved to a safehouse. Or quit her job and make Ron </span>
  <em>
    <span>obliviate</span>
  </em>
  <span> her. Anything but having to deal with </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eat something.” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost eight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She groaned. “Bollocks. I have a meeting at ten--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With the Hungarian ambassador.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How...?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s get a move on.” He sat at the table and crossed his legs. He unsleeved his wand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Put that away--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He proceeded as if he hadn’t heard her. “This requires a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fidelius </span>
  </em>
  <span>charm. Other than Weasley, only you and I will be aware that the case and its contents exist. It comes with us.” She stared at him and he raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I was going to let you stash it under your mattress again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione balked. She felt panic rising in her chest. There is no way he could have known that, none. Unless-- “You’re a Legillimens.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You </span>
  </em>
  <span>are a bloody open book, Granger. Nothing masked, no mental wards up. Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>what these people know because you think so loud?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione paled. He was right. There was no way of knowing. She may have revealed everything to the people that she was trying to track. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll have to practice keeping people out of your head.” His voice sounded distant, as if he was underwater.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never learned,” she breathed. She finally released the key. There was a prickle of pain as blood beaded in the imprints of the teeth. Fuck. The silver key glinted from the ground. The corners of her vision blurred. Blood. She was bleeding. Her own blood… she closed her eyes. No, no, no… She pulled in a strangled breath and knelt, as if being closer to the ground made it easier to stop the bleeding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From a far off place, he continued, paying her distress no mind. “I can block your head from intrusion today, but tonight we’ll have to start.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In… and out. Her lungs squeezed. In… out. “...Start?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Occlumency lessons.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked up at him and dread filled her chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“No.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She shook her head. This wasn’t happening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It must be done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart hammered in her chest. “You’ll be… in my head--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who would you rather root around in there?” He leaned forward. “I already know what you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What am I, then?” She spat. Hermione willed herself not to cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His jaw set. His eyes narrowed, grey and calm. “My assignment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was true, but it wasn’t what she expected him to say. Something more cruel came to mind. He wasn’t there to attack her or tear her down. He had been hired to protect her. It wasn’t his job to provide comfort or dance around the inevitable gravity of the situation. She could be killed. She relied on him, now. Even if that meant letting him into her brain so he could teach her how to use Occlumency. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded. He sat back and held his wand over the case. His other hand extended out to her. Without thinking, Hermione placed her hand in his. She had to. She needed to hold on for purchase. She felt faint. Consciousness was a luxury. If he noticed that her hand was cut, he gave no indication. He tugged her to stand, but when she did, his fingers curled around hers and he held fast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For the charm,” he muttered. He repeated the incantation three times. His wand emitted a golden glow. He tapped the case, and then, it was done. And when it was, she felt at once as if speaking about the case was more dire than ever. She yanked her hand away the moment he withdrew his, leaving a smear of blood behind on his skin. He blanched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His wrist twitched. Hermione fled the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She ran to the washroom and let a stream of water run over the small cuts on her palm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had… bled. On him. She wanted to be sick. No time for that, but she felt certain the compulsion would remain for the rest of the day. The look on his face… like she had cut </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Hermione laid a plaster bandage over her wound and hoped that would be enough to stay the bleeding for now. She didn’t dare look at herself in the mirror.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took her time returning to the kitchen, but when she had, Malfoy was still seated in the same chair. Except this time, his sleeves were rolled up. Her hand towel had been folded neatly and draped back over the cabinet door beneath the sink, but it bore a damp spot. He was holding her cottage key in his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Suppose I had better hold onto this,” he said as her toes hit the tile. He pointed to the seat opposite him. On the table sat a bowl stacked with a tower of dry Weetabix cereal, with a spoon beside it. He had got her breakfast. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eat something.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Say it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My blood was on your hands. You had to wash it off yourself.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione fetched the pitcher of milk from the fridge, but her legs felt like they were made of sludge. She drowned the tower of cereal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gods. Nothing felt real.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give me some idea what I’m walking into.” He was impatient, bouncing his leg, and his eyes were fixed on the placard of the case, which bore the name of her father. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daniel J. Granger D.D.S. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t you just... read my mind?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glared at her. Well… now was as good a time as any. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>fidelius</span>
  </em>
  <span> charm was in play. Even if it made her ill to do so, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to trust him with this. She sat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, she opened the case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stacks of papers sprung upwards; she had opted to store them flat instead of rolled, but it meant that all the edges curled up. Wrangling them back into the case always proved tricky. Now she was glad that she had gone through the trouble of organizing them at least by report type.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She swirled the milk around her cereal to soften it a bit. “Every time a Ministry employee was written up for apparating without a license, every time they took a holiday on the Ministry’s dime, doctored expense reports dating back almost five years… everything I could get my hands on. It’s all there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To what end? Magical malfeasance isn’t worthy of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>prophecy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Malfoy grumbled, but he was only half-listening, clearly engrossed in the paper he held. He had reached for the top stack, which was a collection of transportation infractions provided by Ron.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. But. The trafficking of Muggle-borns is.” She took a bite of cereal and watched him digest the information.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His brow wrinkled. “Adults or children?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Both, I think.” She took a sip of her tea, which was now cold, and made a face. Without looking at her, Malfoy flicked his wand and the cup in her hand warmed again. She replaced it without drinking. “The Wizengamot knows.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His gaze reached hers. “You have proof?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Four members of the Wizengamot have been taking leave, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>apparating without permission in and out of Moscow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t mean they’re involved in a trafficking ring.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione nodded to the case. “They’ve all left the country alone and returned accompanied.” She fished out the bundle of emigration forms and handed it to him. “All listed as spouses or children.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy read through the top couple papers and frowned. “Minister MacAfee isn’t married, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>lists his wife as Imelda Potempkin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> married, legally. But it was sudden and secret. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the first instance that she set foot on British soil, and if you look, it says she entered on a fiancee’s visa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… they filed for a British license when they arrived.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They married in a Muggle registrar’s office. They do not live together now, and there’s been no sign of her for months.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is her wand registered?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if she’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Muggle</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then--” She took the pile of papers from his hand and flipped through until she found the report she was looking for. “MacAfee has a lot of explaining to do to Sofia Sidorov, and their two children.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy wiped his mouth and stared at the paper she had pointed out. “If you’re right…” He replaced the papers inside the case and shut it, securing the latch. He braced both elbows on the table and touched his mouth. “Then... the Ministry has violated a dozen laws. I mean, we’re talking about major articles of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dawes Convention.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione confirmed it. “Seven articles, to be precise.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes glazed over as he considered the gravity. “What do you intend to do with this information?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t gotten that far.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You had better make up your mind.” He sighed. “Does </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> know--anyone--that you’ve been digging?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A few. None know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“About a month ago, I went to my superior, Justin Finch-Fletchley, to ask for the minutes from the last meeting that the Konsulstvo held with the Wizengamot. He refused. I have the highest level of clearance in my department, and past minutes have been available to me. This wasn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s the leak, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s my suspicion. That, or Romilda Vane is still as bad a gossip as she was in school. To her credit, she’s only gotten me a handful of reports, and none of them were classified.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… if Finch-Fletchley is the leak, that would explain why nobody has done anything about Covington.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There was nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>to do</span>
  </em>
  <span> until yesterday</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Other than an odd pureblood joke in a meeting, I mean.” No, not odd. Weekly. Weekly jokes. Little microaggressions. No one ever spoke up. And until he grabbed her in the hallway coming out of Transport, Covington hadn’t tried anything so brash as to hurt her. Malfoy didn’t say anything, but a strange look passed over his face and he crossed his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why was he here? What in Merlin’s name could have compelled him to take this… assignment, as he called it? He let his head fall forward so his chin touched his chest, and his arms lay on the table, outstretched. He scratched his head, but not before she spied another tattoo--one she had known about for a long time. It was so ugly; the ink had congealed beneath his skin, making the skull and snake design raised. The ink had bled below the surface, too. It was ugly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His odds of a successful trial must be dire if he was willing to do all this. For a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mudblood.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gods,” he groaned. “All this is worth your life, Granger?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blushed. “I’m sorry it’s your </span>
  <em>
    <span>burden,</span>
  </em>
  <span> now. Ron’s testimony must be priceless.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snorted and his head fell back against the wall. The serious facade fell--or maybe, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span> wall went up. He smiled. A genuine, disarming true smile with teeth and everything. “It’s the scotch I’m after.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He has an expensive collection.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want the priciest one. I want the </span>
  <em>
    <span>best</span>
  </em>
  <span> one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes. “Which is?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s rare. Rare enough that if he gives it to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I can be sure he’ll never get his hands on another.” He smiled at her again, and this time it looked wicked. It just didn’t feel real. Not humorous like the last, or truly malicious. He had the artifice of a man who had the luxury of hiding. He looked at his watch again. “It’s half eight.” Malfoy stuck a cigarette between his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione gulped as he loomed over her. He smirked at the look on her face and left her alone to light up his cigarette. The front door slammed a little harder than necessary. Right. It was only her </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the line, but it was half eight and time for a cigarette. He had all the information, he knew what she suspected. What did he even need her for? She was as good as bait. An Unspeakable could suss out the rest. He had clearance, diplomatic immunity, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had intimidation on his side, and a bottle of rare scotch waiting for him when he was done.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What did </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>matter?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her palm ached and she worried her thumb over the plaster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cereal was coagulated mush, now. Her tea was again luke-warm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cheeks were wet. She blinked, but it wouldn’t stop. Tears fell fast and she swiped them away, but new tears streaked. She didn’t even know why she was crying, really. But it felt desperate to strangle her. A choking sob throttled her as the front door opened again and she bit her hand to muffle it. Much to her dismay, he came barreling into the kitchen to seek the source of the sound, only to find her with her knees pulled up, sobbing over her bowl of cereal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merlin.” He scoffed, which only made her cry harder. “We have to go, Granger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at me!” She threw up her hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look awful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If only,” he said with a brief laugh. She looked at him. He lurked in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, his neutral stance. “Let’s get going.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione pushed back from the table. “Just… give me five minutes! To put on some fresh clothes, stop bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>crying.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blocked her exit from the kitchen. “We should be clear about how things are going to go today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Make it seem like I’ve given up, yeah?” She pointed to her face. “Surely the puffy eye bags will give it away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, be your authentic, pathetic self,” he jeered. “I take the lead. I enter rooms first to clear them, I go where you go. I hope you don’t have a shy bladder.” He lifted his chin and dared her to question him, but she was too stunned. “If I tell you to run, you run--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not planning on getting chased!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He put a finger in her face. She stepped back, but he moved towards her. “Don’t question me. If I tell you to stand behind me, hide, hit the floor--you do it. And you’ll wear practical shoes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gasped. “I like my mules. Just because they’re not your style--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not because they’re ugly--and they are--it’s because they hurt your feet, and I need you at your best.” He swung to the side to let her pass, but held up his arm before her. “We talk to Finch-Fletchley today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s a brick wall. I tried.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If he’s the leak, I’d like to put a stopper in it.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had intended to get a bit further in the story but it's begging for some time and deliberation, especially considering the amount of emotional distress Hermione is under. Girl's gotta work through some stuff! And a bit of exposition, but there's action ahead. With answers come more questions, right? Next time: The Ministry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The threats come to a head - but it isn't Hermione who's attacked.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: minor character death, blood, and the aftermath of some brief violence. Coupled with Hermione's grief and ever-growing desperation.</p>
<p>*Things get *real* in this chapter. Be forewarned.*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He flooed first. When Hermione came through, he took her elbow. She wore a thick, oversized jumper and denim trousers, with sneakers. It was completely unprofessional, but it definitely sold the story that she was giving up. Between her hair piled into a messy bun and the fact that she couldn’t stop yawning, Hermione was thoroughly run down. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt rested. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The briefcase was concealed in a backpack slung over Malfoy’s shoulder. She let him lead her through the atrium to the lifts. It was easier. She could feel the stolen glances from passersby as they made their way to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. The strange looks emboldened Malfoy. He finally relinquished his grip on her as they reached her office; It was early enough that her assistant Natalie hadn’t yet arrived. She unlocked the door, and he swept inside ahead of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clear,” he grumbled. Hermione followed him inside, and he shut the door behind her, locking it.  With his back turned to her, Malfoy pulled out his wand and spoke quietly. He waved the black hawthorne over the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Hermione sat behind her desk. “I thought you couldn’t use your wand…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at her over one shoulder. “You believed it, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...I’m sorry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Weasley had a feeling the letter might be intercepted. He didn’t write anything potentially sensitive that wasn’t accessible via public record or rumor. The rest was filler to establish my cover. If needed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...How long have you and Ron been in contact, exactly?” Hermione’s heart began to race for reasons she didn’t quite understand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy didn’t answer. Instead, he dragged the tip of his wand down the center of the door, pausing every few centimetres to tap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” she asked again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Making sure your door is properly warded.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seems there’s a charm on it that I have to get rid of, first. Just a trigger charm, but still.” He swirled his hand. The frame of the door darkened, as if black smoke was creeping in from the hallway. It remained after he sheathed his wand. “Someone knows when you come in or out of this office.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gasped. “What have you done?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Relax. Whoever cast the charm must have a register linked to it. I merely made it so that whomever has looked at this register will, temporarily, have smoke pour out of their eyes. Easier to identify them, that way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s jaw was fastened to her desk. “You could be sanctioned!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sorry,” he scoffed, wheeling on her. “You’re being actively threatened by a group of people who may or may not be trafficking magical persons out of Russia and you’re worried that I’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>sanctioned </span>
  </em>
  <span>for a retaliatory spell? Would you rather I make a halo of butterflies appear over the caster’s head? What would make </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> comfortable, Ms. Granger?” He had large circles under his eyes, but the tiredness made his grey eyes dark and his annoyed glare more piercing. She slid down in her chair a bit as he strode to her desk. “Can I get you a soft pillow? A cup of tea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could you take it down about fifty notches?” she asked. His eyes narrowed and he stepped back. His brow furrowed as he seemed to recount his tone with her, and as he debated whether he was justified to yell at her. Ultimately, Malfoy sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your naivete is astounding.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just… let me do my job, and stop asking so many bloody questions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dropped into the chair in front of her desk and let his head rest on the back of the small, uncomfortable seat. She would’ve gotten rid of that chair long ago, except that it didn’t encourage those seated in it to dwell for long stretches of time--and the people who worked for Magical Cooperation tended to be verbose. Something about Draco Malfoy sitting in that chair made it look luxuriously comfortable; perhaps it was the way he let his wrists drape over the arms, but Hermione wondered if Malfoy took comfort from things which made other people uncomfortable. He turned his head to look at her and frowned. A common occurrence when he saw her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could say anything else, a knock rattled the door. Three quick taps in succession. Natalie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come in, Natalie!” Hermione called. Her assistant peeked around the door. “Morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Ms. Granger,” she smiled. Natalie was a wonderful witch; bright, attentive, and chipper enough to keep Hermione from devolving into ennui on particularly long workdays. Her smiling face fell as she took stock of a man sitting in that uncomfortable chair, well before it was the scheduled time for someone to do so. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Natalie, would you fetch Mr. Malfoy a cup of coffee?” Hermione asked. He shook his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t drink that swill--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Better make it an espresso. Something strong and bitter.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natalie nodded, but her eyes were still large and surprised. “Anything for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’ll have a whiskey.” Malfoy carded a hand over his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing, Natalie, thank you.” Hermione gave her assistant a nod of reassurance and Natalie closed the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t need you to order me coffee, Granger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe not. But if you drink it, you might be in a tolerable mood.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glared at her, then. “I need to secure our apparition point this morning. Can you remain </span>
  <em>
    <span>in this office</span>
  </em>
  <span> for twenty minutes while I’m gone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My meeting is in ten, so you can be sure of that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you trust the Hungarian Ambassador?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe so. He’s never given me a reason not to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Want to give me a more </span>
  <em>
    <span>definite </span>
  </em>
  <span>answer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I trust him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great.” He dug a hand into his pocket and tossed a coin onto her desk. “If you’re in immediate trouble, tap this three times with your wand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione held the nondescript galleon in her palm. “What does it do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It gives me a direct apparition point to you, no matter where you are. Wards be damned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How is that possible?” He gave her a look that said there would be no explanation forthcoming. She shrugged. There was a pang in her chest. He had knowledge of magic deeper than she could ever fathom. She’d have to get over the jealousy rising in her. But, why was she envious? He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>burdened</span>
  </em>
  <span> with secrets, overly so. He was hardened by it. Still. What she wouldn’t give to know how to burrow through wards with an unsuspecting coin. She pocketed the coin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy stood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Twenty minutes.” Her door bounced off the wall as he left, and someone made a high-pitched squeak. Natalie entered through the open door looking ruffled. She held a small cup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He didn’t want this,” she said softly. Hermione beckoned for her to come closer. She held out her hand, and her assistant relinquished the espresso. Hermione downed the bitter coffee in one shot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Natalie--” Hermione stopped. The cup clattered to the saucer as she sat straight up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, gods.</span>
  </em>
  <span> This was her only opportunity. “I need you to do me a quick favor. Preferably as soon as possible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pop down to the Hall of Records, and get a copy of all the cases being tried by the Wizengamot in the next month. I misplaced my copy.” Hermione gave Natalie a pointed look. Natalie more or less knew about everything that crossed Hermione’s desk. She knew Hermione never had a copy of such a thing, or need of it. But she was loyal. She nodded vigorously. “Even if I’m still in with the Ambassador, I’d like you to bring it in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright.” Natalie hurried for the door but paused, upon seeing the subtle black smoke encircling her doorway. “Um. Shall I be expecting Mr. Malfoy to return?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. He’ll be back in twenty minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A note of understanding passed between them and Natalie hurried away. Hermione glanced at the clock. Eighteen minutes to go. She couldn’t go on not knowing why Draco Malfoy would help her, why he was so insistent that she stay safe. She had to know what he was on trial for. It had felt, over the last twenty-four hours, like he had the upper hand. He was in control of her life. Hermione wasn’t comfortable relinquishing what little control she had gained back since the war, and if she could have a sliver of information on him… they’d be almost even.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two quick raps of a fist on wood broke her out of her trance. A man in fine tweed robes was staring at her. Albert Dolman had always been a well-kept man with a fine mustache, but he was especially put-together today. “Hermione! Are you… unwell?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She remembered that she was meant to look haggard today, and by his concerned gaze, she must truly look horrid. She blushed. “I apologize for the state of me,” she said, patting her hair. She pointed to her chair, and flicked her wand to shut the door behind him. “Please, sit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is everything alright?” he asked. He was a sweet man. Too old to be of much draw to her, albeit not </span>
  <em>
    <span>so old</span>
  </em>
  <span> that his ideas were archaic like some of his peers. Though, she had always found his gentle ease comforting. In the wake of her Unspeakable companion, his gentility was almost jarring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Albert, I think we had better forget about my request. It’s a fool's errand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, but his shoulders relaxed. “Just as well. We’ve had a spate of issues at the Embassy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione blinked. “Why is this the first I’ve heard of it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am as puzzled as you,” Albert said, shaking his head. “I spoke to Finch-Fletchley myself last week, I assumed he would tell you. I asked him to follow up with the DMLE but instead, we had our Auror presence revoked. I’m on my way to a conference with Auror Hutchins, next.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gods. I’m so sorry.” Why didn’t Justin tell her? He knew she was trying to help Ambassador Dolman with smoothing out emigration protocols. She ought to bring him in on this meeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Albert scratched his chin. “We’re overwhelmed. Three hundred Hungarian refugees have sought asylum in the last month, and there are more every day. But we have nowhere to house them, and without Auror presence, no protection for them either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Talk to Millicent in Muggle affairs,” Hermione said, scrawling a quick note on a piece of parchment. “She’s been working on getting housing set up for Muggles who’ve been cursed. She might have some resources.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will. I only wish the DMLE had come through for us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you touched base with Romilda Vane?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Can she help us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She can at least get you a conversation with the Minister.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, truly. You’ve always helped us if you could.” He held out his hand to her. She grasped it. “I wish I could repay you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Help your people. You’ll make my job easy that way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natalie’s tight knocks sounded, and the doorknob turned. She had accomplished her errand in only five minutes. Hermione nodded to her assistant. “Here,” Natalie said. She presented a tightly-wrapped scroll.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Natalie. Would you see if Mr. Finch-Fletchley is in his office?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natalie disappeared, only to reappear a moment later. His office was only down the hall. “He’s not there, Ms. Granger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Must not be back yet from his early errand,” Hermione lied easily. It wasn’t like Justin to come in late. She handed Albert the note she had written for Millicent and stood. “I won’t keep you, Albert. Please let me know if you need anything.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gave her a sad smile and departed. Natalie closed the door behind him, leaving Hermione alone in her office. She unfurled the scroll.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 10th: Edgar Cunningham, floo extension application approval</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 15th: Alice Beckett vs. Timothy Cusp, dispute--familiar, cat</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 16h: People vs. Alistair Greves, magical malfeasance</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 26th: Grand Jury, sentencing--[REDACTED]</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>October 4th: People vs. Doris Last, grand theft--closing arguments</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>October 5th: Grand Jury, preliminary hearing</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing with his name in it. It was either the trial on the 26th or the 5th, but which? Malfoy had said something about being likely to be acquitted… This told her nothing. He could’ve lied to her about that, too. She tapped the note and it burned up from the corners until a little pile of ash sat on her desktop. She swept it into the bin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time Malfoy returned, Hermione was having a proper brood. “I see your contact was somewhat trustworthy,” he said gruffly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Albert didn’t have smoke pouring from his eyes, if that’s what you’re wondering.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did he want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had asked him for records of Hungarian magic-users who entered the embassy with a British escort, but I told him to forget it. Hungary isn’t a major source of concern in this particular regard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds logical.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you secure an apparition point?” Hermione asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded once. “How long until your next appointment?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not until one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We had better speak with Finch-Fletchley while we can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I asked Natalie to find him earlier; she said he wasn’t in his office.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “At the end of the hall, yes? The light was on as I came back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione pushed back from the desk and stood quickly, sleeving her wand. She shouldered around him. Natalie’s desk was vacant, and there was no sign of her. Her bag was still slung over the back of her chair, and a cup of tea lay undisturbed on top of her desk… beside her wand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And a note, bearing a black wax seal. The seal was broken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bang!</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione took off running towards the commotion before she could think twice. She was choked with panic. A second bang--Justin Finch-Fletchley’s office door was blown off its hinges, sending Hermione to the ground for cover. Splinters of wood rained down on her; she protected her face and neck, but her hands caught most of the damage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay down,” Malfoy grunted. He lept over her and a flash of red light narrowly missed him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione pulled her wand out of her sleeve but her skin ached with prickling splinters. She crawled forward until she could see inside the office. In front of her, a body dropped. Not dead, petrified. The fingers were bloodied. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Natalie.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my gods,” Hermione sobbed. She clasped her assistant’s hand but the skin was slick. “Natalie, you’ll be alright--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Avada kedavra!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Malfoy’s voice filled the room and green light flashed in Natalie’s glazed eyes. Another body fell. “Granger, head </span>
  <em>
    <span>down.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence followed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Save for Hermione’s ragged breaths. She reached out and brushed a dark lock of hair from Natalie’s forehead. Hermione tried to keep her head down. She really did, but his boots approached, and his face came into view... Malfoy knelt and put two fingers to Natalie’s neck. His face paled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on,” he insisted, wrapping his fingers around Hermione’s elbow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s going to be fine--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, she isn’t.” He hauled her up, mindful of her hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was only once she was on her feet, that Hermione saw what had happened. He tried to block the sight of it, he moved her behind the safety of his massive frame, but it was too late. Justin Finch-Fletchley </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>here, after all. He was dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His body was pinned to the wall by a stake of some sort through the stomach. His face was twisted in a pained grimace, but his mouth was slack and dribbling blood from the corners. Justin. No. No, no. Oh, gods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Get him down,” she breathed. She tried to pull out of his grip but Malfoy held fast. He was so stoic as to look pained. Beads of sweat dotted his brow and his hair had fallen out of it’s careful coiffeur. She hit his chest with the heel of her hand, and he caught her wrist. “Please! Please, get him down. Please, you have to--he can’t stay like that, he deserves dignity.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy’s jaw set. He took her by the shoulders and walked her backwards, into the hallway. He released her slowly, setting her in place with a direct look, a nonverbal warning to stay where she was. She never thought she’d look him in the eye and beg.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turn around,” he barked. She blinked, and he was standing beside the body of her boss, a man she had known since her youth… he once again stepped in front of the horrific scene and pointed. “Turn.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She withered under his murderous look. “W-what?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dammit, Granger, turn </span>
  <em>
    <span>around!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turned as he instructed and clenched her fists, gripping so desperately to her jumper that she felt the fabric rending at the hem. She could see the second body in her peripheral vision--the one Malfoy had used the killing curse for. Hermione tried to figure out who it might be, but she didn’t recognize the dark features of the dead wizard. Then, her vision blurred--a soft breath escaped Natalie’s lips. Out. Not in. She was gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione covered her mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thump!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Grunting and the hollow sound of the stake being wrenched from the wall--followed by a slump and sliding down the wall. Fingers curled around her arm and she was yanked forward. She tried to look back but he growled. “No. Don’t look.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” she repeated. She looked up at him. He was stricken, but still composed. His gaze darted to hers. “We have to tell Hannah. His wife. She’ll worry. It should come from me, I saw it, it’s my fault--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll send someone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about Natalie? She didn’t deserve this.” Hermione was overcome with thick tears. She felt her legs shake and give out, but Malfoy’s arm went around her waist. He continued walking</span>
  <em>
    <span>--striding--</span>
  </em>
  <span>for the lifts, all the while carrying her against his side as if she weighed nothing. Her toes grazed the ground only once the doors slid open. Malfoy set her inside the lift, and she crumpled to the ground, scrambling so her back was to the wall and weeping into her knees. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Justin. Natalie.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two people she trusted. Dead. Justin’s mouth hanging open… Natalie’s eyes glassy and devoid of her kind spark… the door exploding in her face… </span>
  <em>
    <span>the killing curse</span>
  </em>
  <span>… Hermione closed her fingers into fists and groaned at the way the splinters tore at her skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was just like Fred, Lupin, Tonks, and the rest. Like her father, losing control. Flashing light--bone on bone. Blood. Blood. Rushing--there was rushing in her ears.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione turned on her side and retched. She coughed so hard that her throat twinged. Blessedly, the sick was </span>
  <em>
    <span>scourgified </span>
  </em>
  <span>right away by her companion, but still, she buried her face her forearm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What had she done?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hands she knew so well from the way they strangled her in her dreams touched her; one came to rest on the nape of her neck, rubbing small circles there. The other smoothed over her knee. His own knee pressed to hers. His shoulders were curved towards her, enough that when she raised her head slightly, her cheek met his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cloves, cedar.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She turned her face into the smell and the hand at her neck followed it. The other wound around her waist, hesitantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gently took her wrists and urged her arms up, around his neck. He hoisted her to standing. The arm around her waist ducked under her knees. She went limp in his hold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lift opened--the announced floor was muffled to her hearing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He murmured something to the first wizard they encountered. Five wizards streamed past them and into the lifts. His chin grazed her forehead. He stopped abruptly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck…”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Malfoy knelt, so he could set Hermione into an overstuffed leather chair. “I have to go back for the briefcase. I’ll be back in two minutes, no more. Don’t move.” He barely waited for her to nod before he disappeared again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione hugged her legs to her chest and her vision finally focused. She was in a small room--maybe an office, dimly lit by one oil lamp. The lamp cast a yellow glow on a small desk, a few bookshelves, and a coat rack. Two coats hung from the hooks. She recognized one of them. It was the wool coat he wore when he intervened with Covington. Malfoy’s office. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His office. Department of Mysteries.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Momentarily, she forgot about her hands and tried to pull her sleeves over her knuckles. She winced as the scratchy wool tugged at the splinters. Hermione took a deep breath, and rucked the jumper over her head and down her hands. She cried as she wrenched her hands free of the cuffs. Even inside-out, she could see that her jumper was bloody at the sleeves. Natalie’s blood. She set her wand in her lap. She flexed her fingers to quell the wrenching pain, but it had migrated away from her hands… to her abdomen. Hermione looked down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A poppy flower bloomed on her white camisole. It ached. Why did it ache? She probed tentative fingers to her skin and the pain became white-hot. She raised the cotton. To the left of her belly-button, a piece of wooden shrapnel protruded from her skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione found her wand again, but she felt her energy sapping out of her rapidly. She joined the end of her wand to the wood. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Accio, splinter!”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was a mistake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She writhed as the splinter withdrew from her abdomen--but so did all the splinters in her hands and forearms. She cast a wordless </span>
  <em>
    <span>incendio</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the wood pieces burst into flames. Hermione kept pressure over her open wound as hard as she could. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Episkey!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The skin knit itself back together but the skin was heavily bruised around what would always approximate a nasty L-shaped scar. She tested an inward breath. No pain, not like it was. Her hands would have to wait a moment for the healing spell. Her strength flagged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He found her sprawled in the chair, breathing even and shallow, with her hands curved over a stain on her shirt protectively. He grazed her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granger, wake up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She jumped and tried to sit up, but her muscles </span>
  <em>
    <span>spasmed.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her hands shook, but the moment she saw </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>she was awake, her eyes welled again. She looked away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could’ve waited,” he said, but his tone belied pity. He straightened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She held up the backs of her hands which were streaked with dried blood but otherwise healed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think I can’t handle a simple healing spell?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was referring to </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Malfoy pointed to the stain in her shirt. “Didn’t realize you had--” He stopped and shook his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good thing I didn’t wait for you, then.” Hermione squared her shoulders, but she felt cowed by his insinuation that she couldn’t handle a wound in her state. She had found strength like that before. But he never experienced it in her. She was strong. She would prove it to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slung a backpack over one shoulder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The briefcase.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Thank the gods he had remembered it at all--it had entirely slipped her mind. Hermione stood; she was light-headed. She swayed on her feet. His hand shot out and grabbed her. Once she was steady, he inclined his head to the door. He stashed her soiled jumper in the backpack and plucked one of his coats from the rack, holding it out to her. It was the wool coat. She shook her head, but he held it out still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen--maybe in your department you can walk around with a bloody top and nobody says a word, but in Mysteries, people take notice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t rightly tell anyone though, can they?” She narrowed her eyes. She was angry with him. For everything. For Justin… for not thinking to get him down before she asked. For killing the man who was responsible. For giving up on Natalie… it wasn’t his fault, but it felt like it. She smacked him in the chest. He took it. She smacked him again, again, again. Nothing. He stared at her and lowered his arm. “I thought you were going to stop all this,” she breathed. She fisted his jumper into her hands. He curled his fingers around her wrist and held fast. His face twisted, just for a moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re alive, aren’t you? </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>is my assignment.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled her from the office without the cover of his coat, which she immediately regretted not taking as the throng of magical persons parted to give them passage. Malfoy made his way to a small set of fireplaces, separate from the main Ministry system and tugged her into the hearth with him. Dual-flooing was dangerous and not to be tried--obviously, Malfoy didn’t care. He clasped her shoulder and threw a handful of floo powder. As the flames raged in the familiar green, she looked up at him. His grey eyes flashed with it. Just like her dream. She gasped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy Manor!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she could prepare herself for it, Hermione was thrust into the cold, palatial stone great room. She froze to the spot, but Malfoy ripped her out of her daze by lifting her once again. She buried her head in the crook of his neck automatically. She squeezed her eyes shut. His even, measured steps echoed up to the high ceilings. He alighted a long staircase and traversed a stretch of the upper floor, before climbing higher still. When next she dared look, he was setting her in a dark room. Dark only because the heavy curtains were closed, but they remained so. He closed the door. Hermione pressed herself to the wall as he lit a fire in a modest hearth. Then, the room opened up to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a small bedroom, at least where a manor house was concerned, but there was a four-poster bed hung with black velvet curtains. The mattress was cloaked in a white sheet, as was a small sofa and chair which were positioned facing the fireplace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why here? Of all places?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>house--”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t live here anymore,” he said quickly. He looked at her and the light from the fire back-lit his profile. “It’s secure. I’ll figure out if </span>
  <em>
    <span>yours </span>
  </em>
  <span>has been compromised tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What time is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy looked at his watch. “It’s only noon.” He huffed an exhausted breath. She couldn’t clearly see his face but his hair flopped forward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing his head bow made her emotions spring forward, once again. Gods. Malfoy always had an uncanny ability to make her cry. “Justin…” she said softly. “He didn’t deserve that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione rubbed her eyes, which stung; her head throbbed. “It was a punishment. He knew something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I fear the same.” Malfoy lay slowly back on the rug, until she could no longer see him behind the covered chair. “But </span>
  <em>
    <span>Natalie?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That… that is my fault. She knew nothing, I confided nothing, but--” Hermione sighed. “She retrieved anything I asked. I’m sure they assumed she was involved.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never seen the man who attacked her before,” Malfoy said. “I’ve seen thousands of criminal profiles, but…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he went on, she stopped listening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything felt pointless. She would miss two appointments today. No one would be there to explain her absence, and if the Unspeakables (as she was assuming they were) Malfoy sent did their job, no one would know what had happened to Justin or Natalie until they were meant to. So… what would happen?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s thoughts returned to the last task she had ever given Natalie: the list of upcoming trials. She cringed. What if that was Natalie’s death knell? Just a stupid list of trials, all to find out why Malfoy--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I killed my father,” he said quietly, sitting up. Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach. “That’s what you’re wondering. I slit his throat. I would do it again. Happy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione turned the doorknob behind her and slipped out into the hallway. She ran. She ran for reasons she didn’t fully understand--Lucius Malfoy, dead! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good riddance.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But this was too much death for one day. She ran down the stairs, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as he pursued her. Get out, disappear, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>go--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy caught her on the last stair, causing them to both trip. He spun with his arms locked around her tight, taking the brunt of the collision with the floor. She struggled against him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t…” she cried. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed him!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” He tucked his chin over her shoulder, forcing her to hold still. Still, her legs kicked wildly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You killed </span>
  <em>
    <span>today--”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I did.” </span>
  <span>She yanked herself out of his grasp and tried to stand, but he managed to grab her wrist. She was forced to sit, pulling desperately. He took her face in his hands gruffly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Look at me!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dammit, Hermione.” He smashed his lips over hers and she froze. He held her there, worrying her lips with a gentle sort of ferocity, until she went slack in his hands. He let his forehead fall to hers. His voice was low and grating. “I’m not a good man. But, so help me--I will protect you. I promise. I am sure I’ll have to kill again before we’re through, but you cannot go into hysterics every time I do what must be done to keep you from harm.” Malfoy stroked his thumbs on her cheeks, which were wet. “I’m so sorry about your friends. If I could… take it out of your head, I would.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She held onto his wrists so tightly that her nails made indentations in his skin. She was afraid of what might happen if she opened her mouth again; her lips still tingled from the sudden contact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me take care of you. Trust me to do that at least.” His eyes were light, intense--but his expression had softened into concerned determination. Then, her stomach burbled. Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth quirked into a smile that could only be so bright because it followed tension. “You’re hungry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t see how,” she peeped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll feed you.” He released her face but turned his palms to accept her small hands. He helped her up. Hermione let him pull her to the kitchens. She could give him that.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! Now that things are really rolling... they have some work ahead of them! Hermione just has to find her strength, again. I know just the man to help.</p>
<p>I have upped the chapter projections... there's no way ten chapters will be enough to see this story through. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Draco ruminates, and Weasley confides.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A little Draco POV interlude for you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Idiot.</p><p>Fucking idiot. Weak.</p><p>He hit his head against the stone tiles and the water rushed over his face in torrents. If he was lucky, he might drown. </p><p>His muscles ached. He turned the knob until the spray felt just shy of scalding. His neck always ached after conflict; maybe it was the way he took his stance, making up for the fact that he had long since ground down the cartilage in his shoulder. Really should’ve taken Zabini up on the adverse stance training when he had the chance. Who knew where that arsehole was, now. </p><p>Draco reached up for the head of the nozzle and repositioned it so it fell straight over his left shoulder. He rolled it backwards, once, twice. He flexed his fingers. Time to re-wrap the grip on his wand. Thicker. So it didn’t cramp his thumb so much.</p><p>Why was the water still running red?</p><p>He blinked and the porcelain turned white again. <em> Stop rubbing your eyes. </em></p><p>Which feeling was worse: pulling a stake from the wall, letting the body fall to the floor? Or kissing her? Her lips. <em> Fuck. </em> Pressing his face to hers--what the hell was he thinking? At least she handled her own blood. If his jumper wasn’t black… he shivered--the water was hot--her blood was on his clothing. There was no way it wasn’t. <em> Scourgify </em>could only do so much. The jumper was toast. Should he burn it, or just unravel it, thread by thread, until the stains were diminished in a pile of tattered yarn… maybe if he untwisted those yarns further, he would forget that when she ran, he pursued. When she cried, he kissed.</p><p>When she hungered, he fed.</p><p>He shook the water from his face and squeezed the remnants of shampoo from his go-bag into his palm. He worked the soap between every strand. Maybe if he could scrub the essence from his scalp and start again, be blank... Maybe he’d shave it all. Would he miss the feeling in between his fingers? It couldn’t hurt his pride any more than dragging her through the Great Room without preamble. Seeing her panic. The pattern of remembrance flickering in her brain, shot through with reminders to herself that it <em> wasn’t </em>the same. That his aunt was long gone, that she had to trust he had good reason to bring her here. Truth was, he was no better than a squatter in this manor, but his apartment was a joke. Empty. Home was a story he only told himself after midnight, when it was difficult to distinguish between dreams and wishes.</p><p>
  <em> Your assignment is not to comfort. You protect her. You keep her alive, and then you leave her alone. You melt into the wallpaper. You’re the detail, not the subject. Your principle is the girl of Muggle birth--the woman with wild hair and deep brown eyes-- </em>
</p><p>He hit his fist against the wall again. Thousand year old stone, but he had a mind to bash it to pieces. Or maybe just the bones in his hand so he could fixate on something other than the way it felt to hold her as she cried.</p><p>It had been barely two days. He was going fucking insane.</p><p><em> Two days </em> and two innocent people were dead. The office attack was completely unforeseen; the door had blown off the hinges and she <em> dropped-- </em>and so did his stomach. The rage had flowed down to his fingers and the curses flew from his lips before he knew what he was saying. He barely registered the killing spell. How had it become so easy to kill? </p><p>
  <em> Two days. </em>
</p><p>Three dead.</p><p>Maybe he could’ve saved Natalie--he hadn’t seen what Hermione saw. Instead, he saw her beloved assistant handing a note to a man in a black robe with a silver mask, frozen in terror as he cursed her. It wasn’t surprising to see the attacker in such attire, but how had he gotten inside… there were explanations even Draco wasn’t willing to face, especially when he wasn’t sure if they should even return to the Ministry until they figured out who was trying to silence her.</p><p>
  <em> Just make it to the trial, just get through the sentencing, and then draw them out…  </em>
</p><p>What had once been a carefully crafted plan now felt like a pointless game of cat and mouse, wherein he was the mouse. Ever the mouse, ever the pawn. The protector, the shield. The fall-guy. If he wasn’t careful, it would choke him, too.</p><p>The water sluiced off his forehead with the passing of his fingers from nose to nape. Maybe he would forget that she smelled like lilacs if he fixated on why he was so rattled.</p><p>Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. <em> Mudblood </em>. Mud. Blood.</p><p>It dissolved into nonsense, the more he thought it. M-u-d-b-l-o-o-d. The letters jumbled together. Nonsense <em> word </em>. What the fuck did it mean, anyway? Dirty blood? Muggle-born. And what in Merlin’s name was clean blood, anyway? If he never had to see blood again--Draco coughed a rueful laugh. Maybe he was a haemophobe, now. Lucius Malfoy was rolling in his grave.</p><p>He prayed she would sleep through the night. It took so long for her adrenaline to drop after he scrounged up some measly sustenance--it was almost eight pm when he finally closed her inside the room--but when it did, her head dropped back on the pillow and she snored softly, on his old sheets, dusty ones. And still, she slept. On his teenage bed. Surely, he was only building layers of new trauma by forcing her to shelter here, but what else could he do?</p><p>She needed to hide. Nobody would look for her, here. Hermione Granger’s usual haunt was ratty, mis-matched--velveteen-covered. Decorated with furniture from different eras and photos that didn’t move. Her cottage was a <em> joke. </em></p><p>Draco barely slept the night prior, in her tiny cottage.</p><p>How could he? She had screamed burbling gibberish well into the wee hours, until her throat went hoarse from it. Even with a wall between them, he heard her crying. His legs draped over the arm of the couch… Draco had counted the cracks in her ceiling until her outbursts settled into quiet mews. </p><p><em> Stop crying! </em> He wanted to shout as she willed Natalie to survive. <em> It’s fraying my patience. </em></p><p>Soap slipped into his eyes and stung. He cursed. </p><p>Every time he looked at her, he saw exactly what she was thinking. He didn’t even have to pry. </p><p>The worst part was that she had convinced herself that he was trustworthy. He wished she didn’t believe it so earnestly. It meant he would let her down… more than just letting her friends get murdered in cold blood. She had sustained an injury he hadn’t anticipated. He hadn’t even checked. What if the wood had punctured a vital organ? He just ripped her off the ground and ran. Maybe she would’ve bled out in his office. If he really wanted to go to Azkaban, that was a one-way ticket. If Weasley hadn’t murdered him, first.</p><p>Draco shut off the water. It wasn’t his job to comfort her. If his two arms never went around her again, it would be for the best.</p><p>His fingers hadn’t stopped itching since he did it. Say nothing of his lips. Fucking traitors. Touching her. Wiping her tears. Had any women ever vibrated like that when he kissed them? Draco willed his skin to repel her. His hands apparently thought differently, but his nerves <em> spiked </em> to be near her. It was Pavlovian. He wasn’t supposed to reach for her, but when the bell rang...</p><p>She was just so… small. Not broken, but… fighting. Hard. She was exhausted.</p><p>Occlumency lessons could wait. All the better, for the toll on him to bore into her head would be great. His mind swirled. Maybe he could catch a few hours of sleep before the dawn broke… maybe he could ask Weasley to stay with her all night. <em> Why did I owl him?  </em></p><p>Weasley wasn’t supposed to know <em> anything, </em> and maybe this counted as keeping him in the dark--as long as he didn’t know why Malfoy chose to move her, keep her <em> here. </em> He came through the Manor floo without question, anyhow. Shook Draco’s hand. Asked no questions. A small part of Draco felt that Weasley’s willingness to <em> go with it </em> recommended him as a friend more than any other possible quality. But also, he could do what Draco could not.</p><p>There was no earthly way Draco was going to spend the night in that room with her.</p><p>The thought of it made Draco want to pitch himself off the third story balcony, but he also knew she was hurting. He felt it thrumming through him whenever she looked at him. And the smallest part of him, borne of two straight days of watching her emotionally unravel, had snapped. The pain in her had picked at his nerves enough that the thought of seeing dark circles under her eyes tomorrow made his fists clench.</p><p>Apparently he couldn’t drown himself in the shower, so. Draco used his jumper to towel off. Fuck drying charms. </p><p>He tossed the damp jumper and vanished it before it could hit the stone. He had a small stash of clothing in his backpack, along with the briefcase… fuck. It was in his <em> bedroom. </em> So much for that.</p><p>He sealed the bathroom. <em> Silencio. </em> He took a deep breath. </p><p>And then he let loose the sum of his frustrations in a ripping bellow, until his throat went hoarse. </p><p>*</p><p>Draco sat at the top of the stairs; the Manor was chilly without a host of elves keeping it running, and his skin was covered in goose pimples, but he endeavored to ignore it. Shirts were a luxury, apparently. He couldn’t decide where to catch some sleep. The options were very slim, and fat chance of him sleeping in his parents’ bed. Day break wasn’t far off, now.</p><p>What he wouldn’t give for a cigarette. He reached into his trouser pocket. <em> Yes! </em> It was broken, but there was one blessed stick. He pulled out the two halves and put the most viable one between his lips. He lit the thing. He inhaled. The sweetness swirled around his tongue, the kiss of clove smoke he came to rely on. The only romance in his life was the burn in his chest as he drew the smoke into his lungs. <em> Those things will kill you, </em> she had said to him once. Mothers were supposed to say such things, and anyway--all the better if they did. </p><p>He heard the latch but he didn’t turn around. </p><p>Weasley sat beside him on the stairs and ran a hand through his hair. “She’s asleep, but not for long. Some Dreamless Sleep would help.”</p><p>Draco nodded. “I don’t have any on hand.”</p><p>“She has some in her medicine cabinet. I could go round hers--”</p><p>“I’ll do it. I have to see if anyone’s attempted to break her wards anyway.” Draco took a long drag from his cigarette, not bothering to care if it would irk his companion. “Would you stay with her?” He looked at the other man, finally. Weasley’s hand covered his mouth contemplatively, but he was frowning at the aged runner covering the stairs. </p><p>Weasley said nothing. He just stared at the carpet until his hand fell from his chin. Both hands went to the back of his neck. His head fell forward in defeat.</p><p>Draco extinguished the butt of his cigarette on the stone baluster. “Why did you ask <em> me </em>to do this?” </p><p>Blue eyes shifted to him. Weasley adjusted so his back was propped against the wall, with one foot on the top stair and the other dangling down the steps. “Do you remember the first case you brought me?”</p><p>Draco had just been assigned his own cases in Mysteries. His <em> own </em> cases. No partner, no tail--utter ambiguity in the wizarding world was <em> his </em> as his taboo was instituted. He was finally in control. A case had come up in Malaysia and he needed a way in without alerting IMC--Hermione’s office, specifically--and drumming up interest in his machinations. Thus began their teetering relationship. Weasley could bury his travel itinerary and still ensure he operated under existing magical conventions. Somehow, they had gotten <em> here. </em></p><p>“I didn’t know why you came to <em> me. </em> Surely you had connections in Mysteries. But your request was honest. You were professional. You communicated everything I needed to know without being pressed.” Weasley sighed. “I expected to fight you every step of the process. I was wrong.”</p><p>“Sorry to disappoint.” Draco couldn’t help the wry smile pulling at his mouth.</p><p>Weasley smiled, then. “I’ve been wrong before. I was wrong about <em> her, </em> you know.” He nodded towards the closed bedroom door. “But when you brought me the prophecy, it just… made sense that it was you who found it.”</p><p>It was the same sentiment Draco had felt when he came across the orb. <em> Of course it’s me. It has to be me. This is my penance. </em> But still… to be the one protecting her… shouldn’t it be <em> this man </em> doing that job? “Color me curious… why aren’t the two of you loved up in her cottage with a pair of grubby children?” Draco raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“It’s not like that between us.”</p><p>“Isn’t it?”</p><p>Weasley scoffed. “Maybe it was, once. We just… we’ve seen too much, together. There’s too much pain. You can’t… you can’t be there for someone when you’ve lost so much.” The ginger man sniffed back unbidden emotions that he would not allow to break the surface. “‘Sides. She doesn’t see me that way.”</p><p>“All due respect, Weasley: that’s a load of bollocks.”</p><p>“You think so, but she needs more than this.” He gestured to himself. He was biting back pain that he clearly never spoke of. </p><p>“She’s barmy for you.”</p><p>“Oh, she loves me. I know that.” Weasley shrugged. “But I just have <em> nothing </em> to give her. Fred died and so did I. I’m just barely here, mate.”</p><p><em> Merlin. </em> Draco shook his head slowly. Never had he felt such a true statement in himself. He still felt his mother with him, but when she died… Draco never had been able to muster a sense of thriving. He was just waiting for the next breath. And when it came, he waited for the next one.</p><p>“And Potter?”</p><p>“We don’t speak. Nothing happened, we never fell out, but--” he stopped and searched for the proper explanation. “He’s busy. He’s trying to have normalcy.”</p><p>“Do you make a habit of deciding people don’t need you, or is this just a particularly self-deprecating time in your life?”</p><p>Weasley laughed in surprise. “Fuck you, ya nosey bastard.” He shook his head and the sad mask slowly slipped back into place. “Nah, mate. Truth is, you’re the only person I can trust. How fucked up is that?”</p><p>“I love you, too.” Draco flicked his extinguished cigarette butt at the man and Weasley dodged it.</p><p>“I envy you.”</p><p>“Why the hell would you do that?”</p><p>“You can walk in that room and feel nothing.” </p><p>Right. <em> Nothing. </em> ‘Nothing’ was a pretty stupid word for the choking sensation of guilt he felt.</p><p>A small whimpering reached his ears. He sighed and stood at the same time as Weasley. They looked at each other. Weasley’s face twisted in a pleading look--<em> you go, mate-- </em>but Draco didn’t give him time to decide. “That’s your cue,” he said. He started down the stairs. “I’ll be back after dawn.” Draco knew it was cruel to leave him alone with her after what he had just confessed, but after all… comfort was not what he had asked Draco to provide. It wasn’t something on offer, either.</p><p>“Put on a bloody shirt, you brute.” </p><p>Draco held up two fingers and the other man’s laughter floated down the stairs. He hoped the other man’s chest ached when he held her. He hoped she screamed again, so Weasley understood what he was asking Draco to do--the whole of it. <em> Sorry, Weasley. Sometimes we have to do things that hurt us, if it’s what needs doing.   </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Little easter egg note that matters maybe only to me (lol): In Hermione's POV, he's 'Malfoy'. In his own, he's 'Draco'. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hermione closes a door with Ron, and someone else dies.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hermione turns a corner with her grief. It's time to lean in to anger.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>These arms were different. Gentle. Soft. Asking to grasp her shoulders before easing her out of a lucid dream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She only saw her own hands in the dream, but they grasped the stake and wrenched it from the wall, easing Justin’s body to the carpet, closing his eyes, folding his arms over his chest in the repose of a man with more dignity. Then, it would restart. Her hands in control, laying him to rest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But </span>
  <em>
    <span>his arms</span>
  </em>
  <span> woke her after an endless repetition and they held her close. He smelled like clean linen. His hooded jumper was soft, and he smoothed her hair down her back, letting his fingers get tangled in the curls. He was cold, laying on top of the covers. His muscles were tense, too. But he hummed lowly, almost as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. She tried to raise her head to peek at him. His chin prevented it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning,” he murmured. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ron. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“When did you get here?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“About nine.” His cheek pressed into her hair a bit harder. “You don’t remember me waking you up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She remembered only fragments of the night before--waking up alone and panicked, the door being flung open, large hands tilting her head back and grasping her chin, the tang of Dreamless Sleep on her tongue, and frowning eyebrows over grey eyes--no, blue. She blinked. Was it a shock of blonde hair that had fallen over his forehead, then, or red? Was the look in his eyes fearful or angry?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The duality of it, the memory stained with a frantic kiss, split the events of the previous night down the middle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I wanted it to be you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I hope it was you, Ronald Weasley.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How often had she longed for him to save her from her nightmares, waking in a cold sweat with nothing to cling to but damp sheets? This gentle creature who would hold her, but not look her in the eye, would love her, but from arms-length... she couldn’t remember him waking her up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still had dreams, despite the potion,” she said with a shrug. Her eyes prickled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t you bloody cry. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“It was definitely on the verge of expiring, I could tell. The slight prune taste.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was all Draco could find in your medicine cabinet. He brought a few things from yours. It’s not safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was ‘Draco,’ now, huh? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Did they break the wards?” she asked. She gripped his jumper tightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He couldn’t be sure. It’s safer, though. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Here.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He released his grip enough for Hermione to sit up against the headboard. She still wore the bloody camisole from the night before. Ron’s gaze flickered to the reddish brown stain and back up again. His brow furrowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They got Justin,” she whispered quickly. “And Natalie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed. “Hermione--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t say it. I know. It’s not a secret. I just… need someone else to know who might… care.” She wrung her hands and willed him to reach out and still her anxious movement. He didn’t. He scooted back and gave her more room. And it was true--she didn’t think it had to be a secret that Justin had died, not from Ron. She wanted someone else to feel like their chest had been cracked open by it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron paled. “I’m so sorry about them both. I didn’t know Natalie well, but Justin was a good man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was so good, Ron. He cared about people. And I thought he was selling me out.” Hermione tilted her head back and stared up at the draped velvet canopy, moth-eaten and musky. “Natalie just did as she was told. I did wrong by them both.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, he did reach for her, but his hand faltered over her knee and he settled for touching her shin. His shoulders curled forward. “Did you order their deaths, Hermione?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you knowingly expose either of them to anyone who might have done this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not that I’m aware.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And did you, at any point, feel in your heart that they deserved to die? Did you use the killing curse on them yourself?” She shook her head slowly. “Then, it is not your fault.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know…” She rubbed her eyes, wetting her fingers but preventing any more tears from falling. “I close my eyes and I see Justin, how he was when we found him. And Natalie’s eyes just </span>
  <em>
    <span>staring.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ll think about it for the rest of my life.” It was true: every time she shut her eyes, even if for just a fraction of a second, she saw the imprinted image of Justin’s body on the backs of her eyelids. Blink again, Malfoy stood before her to shield the sight. Blink again, Natalie’s hair fell across her forehead. Blink again, Malfoy stood beside Justin, and then laid him to rest. It was an endless loop. “Malfoy said he would have someone go ‘round and tell Hannah, but I don’t even know if Natalie has family to tell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll tell Hannah, if no one has. It would be better coming from someone she knows.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you? Oh, Ron. Thank you.” She threw her arms around his neck and held fast. His hands tentatively landed on her waist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, sure.” He patted her coolly on the back, and detached himself from her grasp, as if being near her was appalling to him and he had met his threshold. He stood, scratching his head. “So. How’s it going? With, em… Draco, and all that? He’s nice to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione blinked. The painful images flickered. She stared at him. “He’s… Malfoy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s not mean to you, though. I know how he gets.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione shook her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, in fact, he held me in his arms more in the last twenty-four hours than you have in ten years.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was brash and unfeeling, and there was a trace of residual malice from muscle memory, but… he was not </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean.</span>
  </em>
  <span> To be mean, he’d have to have some design on punishing her. As far as she could glean from his sullen demeanor, Draco Malfoy lived moment to moment with no expectation of the next. He was vigilant and sometimes downright grumpy--and maybe he did take some kind of delight in pushing her buttons--but he wasn’t vicious. Not to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you two get so… chummy?” She asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this, Ron couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ve helped him a few times, with various cases. We’ve gotten a pint or two. He always whoops me in the quidditch brackets.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s… weird. Isn’t it weird?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, he’s… </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s changed.” Ron’s face went solemn but it betrayed a sort of grateful respect for the man of which he spoke, which was both puzzling and somewhat of a relief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You trust him, though.” She pulled her knees up and hugged them. Ron nodded. “With </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let out a long, low breath. “More than I trust myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She scoffed at that. “He killed his father.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron’s head snapped up like he had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>confunded.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “He told you that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I asked.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So to speak. More like, she had wondered to herself what he could possibly have done to agree to protecting her, what foolish errand she had sent Natalie on, and then he volunteered the information freely. Which in turn had made her panic, run for it, and wind up sitting at the bottom of the grand staircase, with Malfoy promising </span>
  <em>
    <span>with his hands on her cheeks</span>
  </em>
  <span> to keep her alive. And he had kissed her. For so gruff a man, he had the softest lips. The thought made her own tingle. What would Ron think of that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another thought trickled in, unbidden.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If that was just the surface of his softness, what sort of gentle devastation did he have in store for someone he truly cared about? It was an intrusive consideration, but it curled up at the base of her spine, beside the memory of him lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all, and made a little home in warmth she refused to acknowledge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco Malfoy wasn’t supposed to make her forget herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He also shouldn’t be the one willing to reach for her, but he had done so. The sense that she was in danger heightened, just then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes…” Ron cleared his throat. “He came to me after it happened. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>day after,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I believe. It was horrid. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man so at war with himself. Helped him draft his confession, turn the body in, and everything. I promised him that I would help, however I could.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione frowned. “Why did he do it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked away. “His reasons were his own.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> think he’s worth helping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do, but I can’t talk specifics, ‘Mione, even to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But he could get the Kiss for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not if I can help it.” was determined. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give me </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione threw up her hands and huffed. “Why isn’t he under arrest?” Did it really matter? Maybe not. It’s not like she had a choice either way. She just felt this pull to pester him about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron straightened, then, brushing his hands down the front of his jumper to smooth it as if it were his grand Ministry uniform. “There are many things that you’ll have to be satisfied not knowing. I’m afraid that we must keep things from each other, Hermione.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione pushed the covers off of her legs and swung them over the side of the bed. She still wore her denim trousers, but her feet were bare. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How did we get here?</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought. Why was it that Malfoy would answer questions, and Ron wouldn’t? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stood, then, and held out a hand to Ron. Despite his discomfort, he took it. She squeezed. With the curl of her fingers, she said everything she wanted to voice but could put no breath to. “I love you, you know.” She did mean it, but not how it came out--short, playful, like one says to someone they’re trying to break up with without hurting their feelings, like one says to a dog the first time they meet the fuzzy thing--like you tell the person who first defined for you what ‘love’ means, and the one you have to let go without hard feelings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s not to love?” He said with a wink and a cringe, meaning </span>
  <em>
    <span>please don’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“What are you going to do, now? I’m assuming you’re not going back to the Ministry, at least not now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She squeezed his hand once again. “I can’t very well do anything with a briefcase full of receipts, but. I can write. I’m a good writer. I have evidence. All that’s left to do is tell the world what it means.” She had given it absolutely zero thought up until he mentioned it, but it sounded good. What the hell was a witch to do with the information that she had?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What was the use of two innocent people dead, when she had such evidence? What good was losing her livelihood, hiding away, demanding the protection of a former Death Eater, if she let it all sit in a jumble in her father’s old case?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What good were the sacrifices she made </span>
  <em>
    <span>ten years ago</span>
  </em>
  <span> if she shied away from it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should owl Harry,” she urged. “I’m going to.” And she would. Maybe Harry would have something bracing and sarcastic to say, something that put things into perspective, even if she couldn’t give him specifics. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gods,</span>
  </em>
  <span> how she missed having more than </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>person care about her well-being. Ron shook his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have nothing to say to him--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione stepped up to him, into the bubble she knew he was pained to burst, and cupped his cheek. “Ronald. You’re going to have to get over this idea that people don’t want you.” For once, he melted. He leaned into her palm, letting her trace his freckles with her thumb, and feel the prickle of his oncoming stubble from two days of constant worry. He shut his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve been spending too much time with Draco,” he said sadly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How could someone so wonderful feel so much pain?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She stood on her tip-toes and hugged him tight, forcing him to feel at least a fraction of the love she held for him. It didn’t matter if he wrapped his arms around her or not. This was not about an equal exchange. Ron gave and gave and took nothing. It would always be his downfall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands were convinced, and so were his lips. He kissed her cheek as he embraced her, just briefly. “I’ll owl him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.” She turned her head and his nose brushed with hers. They froze like two magnets from the same pole. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We just can’t touch.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Get home safe, Ron.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m leaving?” His breath brushed against her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We both know that you can’t stay.” Hermione willed herself away from him, then, pushing past him to the bag that was meant for her, which sat on the armchair. It was a quilted bag, something from some ancient Malfoy relation, and most certainly stuffed with whatever Malfoy had deemed important enough to bring back. If she were lucky, maybe there would be a decent clean top. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron’s light steps echoed in the small, stone room as he walked to the door. “Be safe,” he said from the doorway as the wooden thing swung open. Malfoy’s low voice spoke--so, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been waiting outside--but Hermione deliberately ignored the brief conversation between the two men. The door closed again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione rucked her top off and already felt the angry tears fall--for Ron, who would not accept what love she was offering, and for herself, for grieving a thing she had long known would never be. She balled up the fabric. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Incendio!</span>
  </em>
  <span> The hearth lit in a bright red flash and the fabric burned up the moment she tossed it into the flames. She pulled at the elastic band of her bralette so it laid against her ribs where it was supposed to be. The white lace was stained. She knew she could use a wash. At least the blood was her own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had spent the last two days crying, constantly. It was exhausting. What was the point? What good had it done her?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>changed</span>
  </em>
  <span> by it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing. There was a time for it, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>now </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had to do something with herself, or she would bloody drown in her own sorrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was strong. If she didn’t believe it now, she’d prove it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Enough crying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tea?” His voice sent a shiver up her back, but she steeled herself, turning to face the man who spoke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy’s hair was out of sorts, sticking up, and he wore a simple black tee shirt and denim trousers, both of which had creases as if they had been laying in a drawer for a great while, or were perhaps entirely new. His feet were bare--which was unsettling. It made that hidden warmth unfurl. He was comfortable. Enough to show his arms and feet, not to mention his neck. The curling tattoo at his neck cut beneath his collarbone and peeked out the short sleeve of his top. He was so much taller than Ron that it would have been comical, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was frowning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not fair,” she said softly. “All this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyebrows rose into his hairline as he obviously attempted to keep his gaze higher than her chin. “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione shook her hair back and wound it up into a high bun. She secured it with her wand. “Are we staying </span>
  <em>
    <span>here?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two sugars, then.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy set the tray on the rumpled bed and poured her a cup of tea, trying very hard to act nonchalant about the fact that she was nearly topless before him, fuming like anything. He was ruffled, and his eyes kept tracking towards her as if to make out her general well-being. That </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>his job, wasn’t it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy--” she stopped, then, putting her hands on his hips. “You offered me Occlumency lessons.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think it’s wise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I accept. After tea?” She spied a particular favorite top in the bag and reached for it, but her arm descended well past her elbow. “Extension charm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged. “I didn’t know what you’d want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She peered into the bag.There were piles on piles of neatly folded clothes, and several smaller bags inside, in addition to her father’s briefcase. Clever. “So you… brought it </span>
  <em>
    <span>all.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Granger, I’m about efficiency,” he sighed. “Whatever garments you might need, plus everything in that poor-excuse-for-a-washroom of yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was… thoughtful. Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s nothing.” Clearly a lie by the way he gave an annoyed snort. He leaned against the foot-post and crossed his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She let her shoulders sag a bit and realized they </span>
  <em>
    <span>ached.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A hot shower sounded like a sacred boon. Hermione fished a few things from the bag, nothing fussy, and clutched them to her stomach. “I’ll have my tea in a bit. I’d like to shower.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t bother washing up on my account,” he said, but he thumbed over his shoulder at the secondary door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione nudged his arm hard enough to dislodge his relaxed grasp. “Nothing I do is for your benefit.” She glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes and saw his eyes momentarily narrow, enough that she knew she had misspoke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On second thought, I do believe you’re starting to reek.” He made a motion as if covering his nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing like your stench, ferret.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I happen to know that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> how I smell.” He raised an eyebrow, daring her to challenge him, but she didn’t. Instead, Hermione rolled her eyes, stepped past him, and inhaled as discreetly as she could. Merlin’s beard, but he was right. Even if the essence of his cologne came from a dirty habit, she did like it. Cloves replaced any trace of Ron’s stark, soapy scent in her nostrils. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she admitted to herself that he was right, she wondered then if she was truly taking comfort in the scent, or trying to punish Ron by enjoying it. Either way, working with Draco Malfoy required her to immerse herself in what he was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn’t be selfish. It wasn’t about comfort. It was attunement--syncing up with her watcher--and letting go of selfish things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If stripping herself of the things that felt comfortable and familiar meant that no one else would die, so be it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Melodramatic,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she scoffed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is this the part where I get to be angry?</span>
  </em>
  <span> All of her nerves were on end. All feelings felt true and apt, and raw. Ron pulling away was a knife to the heart, but more than anything, she just felt furious with him. For someone who knew her so well, and claimed to care for her, he sure drew a thin line in the sand. Maybe it wasn’t fair to ask so much of him. He wasn’t obligated to her. Ron just didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>choose</span>
  </em>
  <span> her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sure spending a lot of energy trying to convince yourself, aren’t you?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“This</span>
  </em>
  <span> may be of some comfort to you.” She peered over her shoulder and he held up a folded copy of the Daily Prophet. His face was set with grave seriousness and it made her stomach lurch. He tossed the paper onto the bed and it unfurled itself, spreading out to bare the front page. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>GERALD COVINGTON PASSES SUDDENLY, AGED 51</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The Prophet is sad to report that Minister Covington of the Department of International Magical Cooperation passed away yesterday, of natural causes. Covington was a father, husband, and beloved wizard, known for his contributions to the passing of the famed Dawes Convention. There will be no funeral at this time, as the family has elected to mourn in private. Well-wishes can be sent to the Ministry on behalf of his wife, Imelda.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you do this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head once. “I wish I had the pleasure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So.” She nodded, folding the paper up again. “One less threat.” But he wasn’t just anyone, was he? Two days ago, he had practically throttled her in the corridor, and if it weren’t for Malfoy, he would’ve succeeded. Now, he was dead. The entire wizarding world knew it. What were the chances he had just… had an aneurism in his sleep and passed? Gods, she had never wished that someone died of natural causes, but--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy scoffed. “Wizards don’t die of ‘natural causes,’ Granger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glared at him. “Stay out of my head, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was snuffed out, just like your friends.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe so. Still doesn’t explain who did it. Or why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think about it. Why isn’t there a funeral?” Malfoy stood over her shoulder and reached for the paper, chest pressing against her shoulder. “Unless his body is too mangled to recognize. And why--” he flipped the covers so they settled over the mattress and pillows as if never disturbed, “--would they mention the Dawes Convention? Pedestrian magical folk wouldn’t know enough about it to be impressed. And his wife is named </span>
  <em>
    <span>Imelda,</span>
  </em>
  <span> just like MacAfee’s missing wife. Seems to me it’s a call, just for you.” He backed away from her, retrieving his own cup of tea from the tray, which was placidly hovering above the bed. Then, he sat.  “Are you listening?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Intently.” She worried her lip. Malfoy smirked at her over the rim of his cup and she frowned. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing,” he said with a smug laugh. “I’ve just never met someone for whom so many acquaintances drop like flies. Whether they die or just…” He trailed off but used two fingers to gesture walking out the door. Hermione felt a welling of anger in her but she tamped it down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Funny. I could say the same about you.” She cocked her head to the side. “Only one of us is awaiting trial.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes flashed, but not with anger. “Two of us, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. You’re throwing me to the wolves once your trial starts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have some work to do, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m doing my best.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All due respect,” he snickered, “you’re doing the bare minimum. I’ve seen your best. Sniveling over a Weasel isn’t it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She straightened. “It’s amazing how easy it is for you to deflect having actual emotions, Malfoy. I may cry, more than any person you’ve ever met, but at least I let myself grieve.” Hermione turned on her heel and marched towards the closed door. “Give me a half hour.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy’s look darkened and he fished a cigarette from his pocket. “You can have ten minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thirty.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione slammed the washroom door behind herself and locked it.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I apologize for the delay in updating. Life is insane right now! Wishing you all safety and health, and thank you so much for reading, I appreciate it more than you know.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Occlumency lessons and treading into dangerous territory.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Reliving a past incident of physical abuse. It is brief, essentially a flashback, and she's immediately distracted afterwards. If you'd like to skip it, stop reading at the bolded sentence beginning with "She opened the front door." and resume reading at "Malfoy retreated from her mind in a flash." Thank you!</p><p>Note: The memories Draco is walking through with her will be in bold, while Hermione's attempts to remain centered during the Occlumency will be in italics.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Where are we doing this?” Her hair was damp from the shower and she had plaited it out of her face. The scent of lilac wafted around her; it fended off the essence of cloves well enough. Malfoy nodded to the door without saying a word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione followed him down the stairs. Daylight blasted through the vast bank of windows, making the palatial house seem less dreary, if for no other reason than it made the white sheets over every piece of furniture glow. The heart of the house was a cavernous atrium, from whence all other rooms branched; Malfoy ushered her through a pair of large double doors set at the base of the stairs. The room he chose was pitch black for only a moment before he flicked his wrist. Sconces lit up along the walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gasped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try to stay focused. It’s just a library.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Certainly, he was right. It was a library, but no witch in her right mind would agree that the double-storied collection of tomes was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The books were well-preserved as if under glass, but the shelves were bulging with as many titles as could be stacked therein--on their ends, side by side, of course, and then horizontal, backwards, any which way to get them on the shelf. The room was double the size of her cottage, too. At the opposite end of the long room, an ornately carved fireplace beckoned, and Malfoy strode to it without preamble. He lit the fire and then set his wand on the mantle. When he turned back to her, he frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get a move on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She willed her feet to carry her forward, suddenly wishing she hadn’t put on her trainers so she could feel the plush turkish carpet which ran the length of the room. He pointed to a chair before the fire. She sat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy folded his arms. “This won’t be comfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t think it would be,” Hermione said. She pushed her sleeves up over her elbows. “What do I have to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your ultimate goal is to keep intruders out of your mind, especially your emotional centers and recent memory. It helps to clear your thoughts, and be emotionally neutral.” He scratched his cheek. “To begin, I will test your natural mental wards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meaning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled, but the gesture did not reach his eyes. “I’ll dig until your brain kicks me out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione blanched. “Is that necessary?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Granger. I don’t know how much fortification your mind requires. Judging by the catatonic state Covington put you in, I’m assuming you need </span>
  <em>
    <span>much.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Plus, you telegraph your every thought to me without me trying to get in; it’s amazing that either of us have any dignity left after the last few days.” He uncrossed his arms and stood tall. “Prepare yourself to let me see </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything,” she repeated, dumbstruck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Are you amenable to that?” he asked, as if she had any choice in the matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One thing... the fact that you’ll have free range of my mind doesn’t mean it’s open season on my feelings,” she said quickly. “You’re doing me a favor, to keep me safe, but… there are things you’ll discover that I haven’t told a soul. Not even Ron. I’d appreciate it if you kept it between us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take a vow on it if you like.” He held out a hand to her with a mocking smirk on his face. Hermione narrowed her eyes and clasped his hand so firmly that it startled him. His massive fingers closed around hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A handshake will do. Never thought I’d trust you to go inside my head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never thought I’d have to.” He held fast to her hand. “When this is all done, your mind will be impenetrable. The painful part will end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somehow, I don’t think it will,” she said. From her seated position, he appeared to loom over her, but she sat still. “Go on, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit back.” Her hand slid from his grasp and Malfoy moved behind the chair. “For now, I’ll touch the sides of your head. Focus on that, and try to empty out everything else. That’s your centering point. I will start from recent memories and work my way backwards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione nodded her consent and her eyelids fluttered shut as his fingers grazed her temples. They were warm, and softer than she might have expected. Long, slender--with finely clipped nails. The pressure against her skin was slight. His little fingers rested below her cheekbones. Her skin tingled.The hair at her temples tickled his palms. She settled herself against the back of the chair. Her thoughts quieted, and the only thing in her head was inky blackness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little flicker poked through the emptiness of her mind. His presence in her mind was like a blue flame--hot, but not searing, burning through the emptiness she had attempted. It was startling--she wasn’t sure how she had expected it to feel, but that wasn’t it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right. Center, Hermione.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His thumbs on the shell of my ears, pressing them inward slightly. His first and second fingers over my hair--it’s still damp. His skin will be damp, too. He’ll smell like me. Ha! Lilac and cloves. I wonder how often he smokes--the scent is faint, now. I bet it has permeated his entire wardrobe--thank the Gods he doesn’t smoke tobacco! His teeth would be yellow. How does he have such perfect teeth? Took three rounds of braces for me to lose the beaver teeth, but his are proportional and white. Like dentures, almost. I wonder if he has implants--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy cleared his throat and removed his hands from her head. “Would you kindly turn to your attention to something other than my </span>
  <em>
    <span>teeth?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can hardly blame me for getting side-tracked,” Hermione scoffed. “I’ve never done this before!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well… it’s distracting, and defeats the purpose of the exercise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it’s a good defense mechanism against a vain Legilimens,” she grumbled. She resituated herself and clutched her hands together in her lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put your hands on the arms of the chair. Focus on that instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed and did as she was told. Malfoy remained behind her chair as far as she knew, but he did not touch her again. The instant he restarted the exercise, she sensed his blue flame. She centered her attention on the chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The arms are curved and made of velvet, the fabric is well-preserved and affixed to the chair with rivets. The fabric is stretched over padding, which is affixed to a wooden frame, perhaps with staples or glue--</span>
  </em>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>Ron’s breath against her lips. </strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>
    <span>No.The arms are curved. The arms are curved and high, like they were specially made for someone tall.</span>
  </em>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>“I love you, you know.” </strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>She gritted her teeth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone tall who would use this chair a lot. Like Malfoy--</span>
  </em>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>“You’ve been spending too much time with Draco--”</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>Hermione breathed in, and forced down the pang of pain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The arms of this chair are curved and high, velvet and green. The arms are curved. The arms are curved. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The flame moved deeper. </span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>Malfoy’s lips on hers, coaxing her to a state of calm. </strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>
    <span>The arms are curved and--oh! </span>
  </em>
  <span>She couldn’t hide the increase of her heartbeat to see it again, and the blue flame lingered there long enough that she willed the memory to repeat… asked </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> to repeat it. Oh, but it was delicious to see it. She shouldn’t want to. But it wasn’t painful like feeling Ron. It was a little bit miraculous. One moment of comfort after months of panic, and she wanted him to see it, too. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Let me see it. Please. And then I’ll think of the chair again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>Malfoy’s lips, his lips, his lips are curved--</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>
    <span>The arms are curved.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She white-knuckled the arms of the chair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The bloody arms are curved, they’re velvet, or chenille, or silk brocade. The chair is made for someone tall. Could be anyone. Literally anyone taller than me. The arms are curved.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The next memories flashed quicker in the blue light, throwing the emotional tailspin into reverse.</span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>Malfoy pulling her through the Department of Mysteries. Healing herself. The sliver extraction. The blood. Justin’s body, Natalie, <em>avada kedavra!</em> “Stay down!” The door exploding. <em>Bang!</em> September 26th or October 5th? Hungarian refugees. “Pop down to the Hall of Records--”</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>
    <span>The chair is fucking uncomfortable, but the bloody arms are curved!</span>
  </em>
  <span> She tried to force the flame out, but it returned with a flash, which made her wince. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The arms are curved--</span>
  </em>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>The Prophecy. </strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>Unspeakable. </strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>
      <em>Ron! </em>
    </strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>The letter--</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>
      <em>You’re going to pay for that, Mudblood.</em>
    </strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>Malfoy’s hands around Covington’s neck.</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>Covington grabbing her.</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>“I’m asking for a formal censure for Gerald Covington--”</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>
    <span>The arms are black.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The blue flame extinguished. Hermione jolted back to reality and panted. That wasn’t so bad, really. Not painful, per se. Invasive, but not at all the level of agony that he had implied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Abysmal job, but I’m not sure what I expected,” Malfoy tutted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned around in the chair. “Oh, I’m sure you were perfect the first time you did it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy frowned. “You have no natural mental wards. It doesn’t bode well for your ability to build them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try it again! Come on, Malfoy. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You know I won’t give up until I’m perfect at it.” She smiled innocently, but she could tell that her goading was getting to him. He pinched the bridge of his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” He walked around the chair and retrieved his wand from the mantle. “We’ll try something else. Pick an incident. Something I wasn’t involved in,” he said pointedly, and the tips of his ears flushed. “Concentrate on it. When it started, how it progressed, what you did. Try not to think about how you felt. Once you feel my presence, tell me the story in the order that it happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Major life event. Dealer’s choice.” He leaned against the stone impatiently, tapping the point of his wand on his elbow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was only one thing that came to mind, right away. Hermione sighed. There was nothing she could relive more vividly. “Just… don’t ask me about it afterwards,” she said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s too much--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I can do it. But it will be painful, I know it, and--and I don’t want to talk about it once we’re done.” Her gaze snapped up to gauge his reaction but his face was stoic. He nodded once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a therapist, Granger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pity.” She pulled her knees up, folding them to her chest. She hugged her legs and closed her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just give me the </span>
  <em>
    <span>circumstances,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he reminded her. “Not the emotions.” The blue flame lit in the corner of her mind, but this time, it didn’t dig. Instead, it waited.</span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>She opened the front door. The house was silent, save for the whistling from the tea kettle. She walked through the foyer into the living room, where the television was on, but muted. A black and white film played, something with Gene Kelly, her mother’s favorite. She tossed her coat over the chair. She unsleeved her wand and flicked it, quieting the kettle, which she could see from the doorway into the kitchen. “Hello?” No answer. Something fell heavily on the floor above. Hermione ran to the base of the stairs, but she saw nothing. She climbed. Another slam, this time her parents’ bedroom door. She tried the handle--locked. <em>Alohomora.</em> The latch popped. She opened the door enough to peek inside. Her mother lay unmoving on the bed. Her eyes were open.</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>The blue light flashed, a warning.</span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>She held up her wand and entered cautiously. Something shattered behind their washroom door. Hermione side stepped towards the bed, at all times keeping her wand trained on the closed door. She felt the side of her mother’s neck. No pulse. She swallowed hard and bit back tears. “Dad?” she asked quietly. The washroom door unlocked, but it remained closed. Hermione reached for the doorknob, but he burst out, knocking her to the ground. His hands closed around her throat and he kicked the hand which held her wand until she let it go. His eyes were wild and unseeing, and yet fixed on her utterly. “You killed her,” he seethed. “You KILLED HER! You made us this way, stupid girl--” <em>Bang!</em> The lamp bulbs in the room exploded, and he released her. Hermione scrambled up but he grabbed her ankle and wrenched her back to the floor; her head caught the corner of the bed on the way down and pains shot through her sinuses. He put a knee to her spine and wrenched her arm back, pinning her there. Hermione shut her eyes with the pain and anger built in her, reaching through her--</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>Malfoy retreated from her mind in a flash. The echo of splitting residual pain spiked in her head, and Hermione pitched forward--he caught her, grasping her shoulders. Slowly, she raised her head until she could see his face. He was pale and stricken. His eyes were wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I understand, now,” he said faintly. He nudged her chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her head lolled. “How did I do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy went to his knees. Against her better judgment, Hermione pressed her face into his shoulder. “You are a </span>
  <em>
    <span>force,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Granger.” She shook her head. “I was wrong. You do have a natural inclination.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t,” she said into his shirt. “You saw me--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione’s hands curled into the black cotton. “You’re being nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorted. “Nobody has ever accused me of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just… give me five minutes, we can try again--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s enough for today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” she asked, pushing back. Her headache had mostly receded into a dull ache. “I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy tilted her chin up and observed her. “Your eyes are dilated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve had enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled sadly. “I can take more than you think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw.” Malfoy sat back on his heels but his hands fell to the arms of the chair, trapping her there. “Listen… You don’t get to choose what they take from you, or by what means. Sometimes it’s an overt invasion, and sometimes they strip information out of you. The next person who does this to you is going to take what they want. You need to rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, they won’t,” she said tiredly. “I’ll be ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave her the queerest look, just then. He was already in her space, a thing he had a habit of doing when she was hurt, but his face softened. The wrinkle between his eyebrows smoothed. He leaned closer. “Why did you show me that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione looked down at her hands, which were still fisted in the front of his top. She let go, and smoothed the cotton. “Every other major turning point in my life… you’ve witnessed, in some manner. There is one I’m thinking of in particular... I’m sure you can guess what it is.” She held up her arm, where a faint white scar spelled out the slur he had called her more times than he could count. He covered the scar with his palm and held fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...and I brought you </span>
  <em>
    <span>here,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I won’t make you relive that memory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you should. For both of our sakes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then... I’ll find a safehouse, at least let me get you out of here--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She touched his lips to still them. “You warned me this wouldn’t be easy, and you were right. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a safe place. I trust you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He removed her hand from his mouth, but he held onto it. “One question, and I’ll leave it alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fixated. On me.” His eyes narrowed, but he glanced at her lips. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione pulled her hands from his, and set her feet on the floor. She stood in the space between them, forcing him to sit up on his knees or jump back. He chose the first, and from that position, he was only a head shorter than her. He didn’t look cowed, or ruffled… just curious. Her knees shook. She braced herself on his shoulders, her body exhausted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes a kiss is a boon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his look hardened again to a ferocity of unexpressed feeling, her breath caught. Gods, but he was so handsome--and it was heightened by how much he seemed to care. A corner had been turned. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to catch her. Try as he might to convince himself otherwise, to keep her on her toes with biting remarks and sarcasm, he was worried. It was written all over his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>let me</span>
  </em>
  <span> fixate?” She whispered. He sat back on his heels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m human,” he said, carding a hand through his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you kiss me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood, looming over her. “Because I wanted to.” He turned on his heel and strode for the door of the library. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco?” He paused in the threshold. He looked at her over his shoulder. Hermione smiled. “I’m glad you did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffed, but it was half-hearted. “You’re saying that because the Weasel broke your heart.” He winced as he said it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell yourself whatever makes you feel better,” she said smugly. “Where are you going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have a smoke.” He left the library, looking tense and shaken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For once, Hermione felt like she had earned some dignity back.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We'll get back to Hermione's investigations in the next few chapters! We'll also learn more about what really happened with her parents down the road. Thank you for reading.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Draco admits to himself that he feels more deeply for Hermione than he's ever realized.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As requested - another Draco POV ;) Next chapter - Draco returns to the Ministry on Hermione's behalf.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Several days passed without another attempt at Occlumency lessons. Draco had a constant headache. It had to do more with messing up his neck sleeping on the floor than having experienced the inside of her head, but watching her memory in real time… allowing her to dwell on his desperate kiss. Feeling the fierceness of her emotions behind the restraint had him plotting all the ways he could take it on for her, transfer the hurtful memories out, obliviate only those from her mind, </span>
  <em>
    <span>something. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But then, there was her strength--her words:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sometimes a kiss is a boon.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made his head pound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, he ran. Twice a day, around the estate. One morning, rain sloughed off his forehead, and he got blisters from his soaked shoes. He paid them no mind and pushed himself until his legs gave out. He came to remember the edge of the property line by how rapidly his heart was beating as he climbed the hills and lept over short stone walls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All the while wondering to himself what he was trying to out-run.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He left her alone Friday and Saturday, and ignored his wand, which collected dust on the library hearth mantle. On Sunday, he woke up as soon as dawn broke. He extended the tendrils of Legilimency to ascertain that she was awake and calm, set a tray with tea and oatmeal outside the door, and then he ran. His once pristine trainers became ruddy brown. His chest heaved. His muscles burned. Still, he ran. He came in at lunch time, fixed a sandwich for her, and then closed himself in the library. He didn’t bathe. He would have to go into his room--her room--to do so. And if she wasn’t around him, why bother?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco sat before the roaring hearth with one arm propped up on his knee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The prophecy was burning a hole in the back of his mind, too; the bit that he hadn’t divulged when trying to convince her to accept his help was difficult to swallow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“When Slytherin’s heir, wielded like shield and sword, pierces his own heart and ends his line, then will the forked tongue of fate be sated. The Jawless will die with him.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When would he have to fall on his sword for her--and could it happen now, when all he had done was kiss her? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The collapse of the Malfoy bloodline would be a welcome respite from the skin-numbing feeling of standing within arm’s reach of her, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fighting</span>
  </em>
  <span> the urge to do just that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reach.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Touch. Hold. Seeing into her mind had only made it worse. He had never wanted another person with such ferocity. Even as a hormonal teenager (when he wrote off the way his body twitched whenever she gave him any attention by badgering her with callous ribbing), he could at least maintain a facade of composure. It wasn’t supposed to be like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was the only thing that made him afraid of what could happen if the prophecy actually came true. He had never been afraid to die. Until her.</span>
</p>
<p><em><span>Fuck.</span></em> <em><span>It’s not like I want her,</span></em><span> he repeated to himself. </span><em><span>It’s not like I want her. It’s NOT like I want her. I WANT her… I want HER… Hermione.</span></em></p>
<p>
  <span>The truth of it was: even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>want her, there was no one else worthy of protecting her. He could never have forgiven himself for leaving the job to another wizard. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That part</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t about him, anyway. If only he hadn’t peered inside her head that first time. He knew she hated him, but seeing what she was thinking, how she sometimes responded to him unconsciously--it was a drug like no other and he couldn’t stop himself from searching her mind for some semblance of tenderness. Beneath the pent up history of loathing, it was there. Layers of pain masked it. She had still pressed her face to his shoulder when the lessons became too much, and at least she wasn’t scared of him anymore. She didn’t have longing for him the way she did for Ron, but now when she looked at him, she projected something new: a miniscule flicker of misplaced hope. It was choking him. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tell yourself whatever makes you feel better,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had said. Why did she have to be right? There were things that even Hermione Granger couldn’t answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were two questions to which Draco wasn’t sure he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>an answer:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why did her salvation have to come on the terms of her pain? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When he fell, like the orb foretold, would she be relieved?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laid back on the rug. Fuck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Should’ve destroyed the orb when he had the chance… like he told Hermione he did. He glanced up at the clock on the mantle. It no longer ticked, but he could swear the porcelain face glowed from the secret concealed within. The orb needed to go. Once the autumn rains ceased, and before the ground began to freeze, he would bury it, beneath the tree that shaded many Malfoy family secrets--the tree that started to flower after Narcissa died, and hadn’t dropped a petal since. Who better to keep the prophecy?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There just wasn’t enough time to resolve what he knew was coming. Three weeks had turned into two in a flash and September twenty-sixth was looming. Would it work? Three wizards had to be drawn out of the shadows to fulfill his part of the prophecy, and he had heard nothing about any of them in recent years. For all the deep magic he had access to, there was no way of knowing if the bait would work. He needed something else, something sure to force the hand of the splinter group of Death Eaters at work, here. Who else but his former kin would use a jawless skull for their seal? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scratched his stubbly jaw. He’d been clenching his teeth. His cigarette case was empty. There wasn’t a drop of liquor in the gods-forsaken manor. What on earth was a wizard to do, trapped in a mansion of his worst memories with no vices and a woman he was loathe to long for?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three raps sounded on the library door. He turned his head as the door creaked open. “Draco? Are… you in here?” Hermione called. The hairs on his arms stood on end and he panted harshly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Obviously.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, I need a favor.” It took Hermione a moment to find him, but when her gaze met his, her eyes narrowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want?” The panic in his chest came out like a soft growl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighed, but she stepped further into the room. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a mess of curls. She wore soft pyjama trousers and a large hooded jumper--he sat up. That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>jumper. He’d know it anywhere. The frayed vee at the neck, the unraveling cuffs which fell well below her wrists. What the hell was she doing in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his jumper?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Had she gone fishing through his bag, too? It dwarfed her frame. It would smell like her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stood behind the wingback chair. “I need you to go back to Justin’s office and see if there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> left that might be of use to me. Travel records, weird appointments, and any notes with black seals. If you could search Natalie’s desk, too, it might turn up something. And Covington’s office, while you’re at it. If that obituary was supposed to get my attention, I’d like to know what we might be walking into. We should find Imelda. Oh--” She produced a letter from her pocket. “And I need you to send this for me. I don’t suppose you could fetch Achilles here, given everything, and I need Harry’s help with a hunch I have. I hope he’s alright, my poor owl--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>jumper?” Draco’s face flushed as she stared at him. She looked down and shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I found it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In your bag,” she said quickly. “It’s cold. You can have it back--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do what you want.” Draco stood. He held out his hand in demand of the letter and she handed it over. “If I do this for you, you’ll be here alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not worried about it. It’s not like anyone knows we’re here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Weasley knows.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but he’s not a Death Eater. He’s also not going to tell anyone.” She bit her lip. It sent a jolt through him to see the plush flesh worried between her teeth. “Please? I’m nearly done with my report.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...report?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s amazing what kind of work one can achieve with some peace and quiet. But, I need a first hand account to legitimize my theory.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you think Imelda is going to give that to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s worth pursuing. She’s linked to </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ministry officials and one of them turns up dead? Suspicious, no?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There have to be thousands of women named Imelda in the world, Granger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s the same woman. I know it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, really? You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She threw her hands up and sighed. “How about this? I’ll go, and you can stay here and twiddle your thumbs, or whatever you’ve been doing the last few days while I did real work--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be a swot,” he spat. “I’m merely questioning if your </span>
  <em>
    <span>hunch</span>
  </em>
  <span> is worth the risk. You’re used to getting your way, so you’re getting defensive--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you picking a fight with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you wearing my bloody jumper?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione rucked the offending garment over her head in a huff and tossed it at him. “Take it! I have better things to do. I know when to stop arguing with an idiot.” She turned on her heel. “Also? You </span>
  <em>
    <span>reek.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She slammed the door to the library.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cringed as the wooden door bounced off the frame, leaving the door slightly ajar. It beckoned to him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, Draco. Enough brooding. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He snatched the jumper from the floor--of course, lilac wafted up at him from the woven fibres--and strode for the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He set her letter for Potter on the bottom stair so he wouldn’t forget it. It wouldn’t do to stew in his own sweat and ennui--he had a job to do. And he would bloody well do it. But first, a shower. He took a punishing pace on the steps, skipping every other as if he hadn’t the time to bother with a grand ascending stair. The bedroom door was open, Hermione sat hunched over on the bed with papers strewn around her. She did not look up as he entered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You haven’t smoked a cigarette in a few days, Draco.” She spoke, and he froze in the washroom doorway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he admitted. “I’m out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm. Nasty habit, anyhow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snorted and closed himself inside the washroom. How did she know that he was jonesing for a cigarette? Unless… she missed it, the clove scent he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> she loved. Maybe if he--</span>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He shut down the curious part of his mind that wanted satisfaction that he could only get with a listen to her thoughts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t listen in. Even an open book deserves its secrets.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He found himself sitting down in the bath with his back to the porcelain, as water filled the tub around him, but something new hit him. Oh, gods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Draco. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She said it. Twice, maybe three times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco turned the knob to cold. He didn’t deserve the warm cradle of a bath--not when the sound of his given name from her lips made his cock twitch. He was ashamed of himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but think:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes a </span>
  <em>
    <span>name </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a boon. His name. Her voice. Said without malice. He wanted her to say it again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco squeezed a small dollop of her soap into his palm. Lilac was the most… lovely of scents. He rubbed his hands together and lathered the soap over his torso and arms. Then, he laid back, and let the Hermione-blessed water engulf his head and face. Cold water, lilac soap. He baptised himself in her. He scrubbed at his scalp until his hair felt silky-smooth again. He sat there in the tub, for longer than he knew, clutching his elbows, and floating on a plane in which cold was as welcome a sensation as hearing his given name from lips that he craved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he came to his senses, the water was luke-warm. Something wasn’t right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was crying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco scrambled from the water and rucked on his trousers. He threw the washroom door open. Her back was arched. She was asleep, with all her papers still scattered about. Draco sidled around the bed and leaned against the bedpost. She was being tortured within. Fuck. He couldn’t breathe. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wake up, Granger. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She writhed as if being pulled from the sternum by an invisible string, her hands twisted into the sheets. Tears wetted her cheeks, and still she slept. Her mouth was twisted. Draco pushed off the post and knelt beside the bed. He extended a tentative hand for hers, and the moment he touched her clammy skin, she grabbed him like a vice. He lurched forward. Without meaning to, he projected into her dream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of her father raging with unbridled anger and grief, he saw himself. Wild, broken--seeking to hurt her, to take something from her. Desperate to choke her, to take from her what was due to him. Draco shut down the searching blue flame of his mind and forced himself out of her head. The act woke her and she ripped her hand from his, crawling backwards until she found the edge. Then, she pulled her knees up to her chest and heaved grieved breaths.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re alright,” he whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded, but she couldn’t look at him. “I thought I was done dreaming about him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco pressed up so he rested on his elbows--leaning towards her as far as the mattress would allow. His arms fought to hold her, but he gripped his biceps.</span>
  <em>
    <span> What would be the harm in it?</span>
  </em>
  <span> It would break him, but maybe it would comfort her. He was destined to fall, wasn’t he? “You’ve worked enough today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione shook her head. “I owe it to them. I have to finish it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can work on it tomorrow.” Draco allowed his hand to crawl along the covers towards her. He smoothed the silk-satin duvet. “I’ll go to the Ministry tonight, if it helps.” Her eyes darted to his, and she fixed him with an unblinking stare. Relief escaped from her in a soft sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’d do it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His chest tightened. “There will be less people. Fewer prying eyes.” Hermione’s fingers mirrored his and came to rest, mere centimetres from his own. His hand was so much larger, but he gave in to temptation and laid it over hers. “You have the coin I gave you, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s in my trouser pocket.” She turned her hand so she could grasp his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be gone an hour at most. If I’m gone one minute longer, you know what to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tap three times.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Good.” He squeezed her hand. “I will come straight away. You can count on me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco studied her eyes--two deep caramel irises with dilated pupils--and he lifted her hand to his mouth, where he studied the curve of her knuckles with his lips. Her fingers fluttered in his grip and she leaned forward, throwing her other arm around his neck. Draco stood with a jolt and wrapped his arms around her waist. He held her against his torso. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck it. Give in. Reach. Why fight what feels so…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sniffled in his ear and he felt her cheek grow wet against his. “I’m sorry,” she breathed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For what?” His right hand found her nape. Flyaway hairs curled around his fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything. My… pain is not yours to carry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He huffed into the fabric of her shirt as her tiny hand made circles on his shoulder. “You little fool. Of course it is.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! Find me on Tumblr at TheSuperJane. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hermione finally sees the prophecy, and Draco Malfoy is not who he seems to be.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>His skin was wet, and he smelled like lilac.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fitted her face in the crook of his neck, against the corded muscle. She shouldn’t take solace in him. She shouldn’t. The mere fact he was male and wanted to hold her made him an obvious surrogate for what she wanted. Which was… what? To feel… like her pain mattered? To be held in comfort? Like when she woke up in a cold sweat, it was because someone cared enough to wake her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t like that, though, was it? He was sworn to protect her. Sometimes she needed saving from the inside of her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deft fingers released her wilting bun out of the hair tie which bound it; her scalp ached, but his hand remained at the base of her neck, rubbing the muscles which held her head up. She breathed out. She wasn’t crying anymore. She was savoring Draco Malfoy, and his bare, damp torso. She was a glutton for it. For affection, of any kind, for gentleness, no matter the source.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This source was so much more than she thought she could have. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t Ron, and something about that distinction mattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that the man holding her was Draco Malfoy was, in the long and short of it, more comforting than she had dared hope. He was tall, muscular--with inked markings running over his skin in patterns she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to map. But she wanted to. An impulse had been growing in her since the first day, when he appeared out of nowhere. He was angry and brash a lot of the time, but he was still </span>
  <em>
    <span>there.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He could’ve let her cry in her sleep. When he was annoyed with her, he still listened. He was rufflable. Competent and stoic and focused on what he specialized in, but determined not to see her suffer. He compartmentalized. Even if she was his </span>
  <em>
    <span>job…</span>
  </em>
  <span> had he protected anyone before, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this?</span>
  </em>
  <span> How many women got to experience him raw? Her hand spasmed at his shoulder. He readjusted, bringing her hand down to his chest, and pressing it flat to his sternum. Then, he eased his hands away from their locked positions, retreating to the safety of her wrists. Before he could step back, Hermione grazed her lips along his cheek. If she opened her mouth, she might ask him to keep touching her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is normal. This is fine. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione sat back on her heels. Her hands were still caged in his grip. He looked down at her, but his face was blank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She studied him. Unlike the swirling dragons on Charlie Weasley’s arms, Malfoy’s tattoos remained stationary. Muggle work. He had a fair number of them, too, but the design which caught her attention was the curling vine, which threaded itself through a skull capping his shoulder--in one eye socket, out the gaping mouth. Jaw intact. The line-work was intricate, almost delicate. The leaves crept from the side of his neck, with plush flora mingling alongside the thorny stems of beheaded roses. The petals fell like droplets of blood from the skull’s jaw. Red was the only color in the work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the midst of the precise lines, his torso was heavily scarred. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sectumsempra. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A small memory flickered of seeing him back at Hogwarts that last year--gaunt, lacking sleep and isolated from his friends. What pain had he felt? Somehow, despite everything, he was strong. A pang hit her square in the stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” His brow furrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blushed. “Don’t look inside my head just now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head and the corner of his mouth crooked up. “I have restraint now and again.” Hermione gazed down at his hands, one of which could easily encapsulate </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> of her small ones. She couldn’t stop herself from pulling one hand free and laying it on his infamous mark. He flinched. The angry lines felt warm beneath her palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is it so irritated?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His Adam's apple jumped. “Don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It looks infected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should feel how bad it itches. Nothing helps. Sometimes it bleeds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy pried her fingers from his forearm, and laid them over the skull on his shoulder. “Doesn’t hurt as bad as this did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smoothed her thumb over the eye socket. “Right on the bone is the worst, I’d imagine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t have any ink yourself, Granger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, although I’ve always been curious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would suit you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think so?” She smiled at the thought of being inspired with the overwhelming urge to mark her skin for the rest of her life. Still, she followed the trailing rose petals down his bicep and tugged on his elbow. He turned his back to her. From the nape of his neck to the top of his trousers and beyond, some kind of sword trailed down his spine. The hilt was gilded with spiraling knotwork. The guard was simple, but the pommel was carved into the head of a dragon. Across the blade, which was otherwise simple except for its length, lay a daffodil on a stem. She traced the shape of the blade until he shivered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Things that… matter,” he said softly, as a way of an explanation, but if ever there was an image which better encompassed him, she had yet to see it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Narcissus. For her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head dipped down but he said nothing. His shoulders curled forward. Malfoy reached for his black bag, which had wound up under the bed, and retrieved a dark grey henley. He yanked it over his head and hid his skin from her view. She tamped down a feeling of disappointment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be back in an hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember what I need?” She crawled to the end of the bed and held the footpost. He glanced at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A therapist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hucked a pillow at him. He tossed something back at her and it smacked against her stomach. His jumper. “Anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>useful, </span>
  </em>
  <span>or seemingly out of place.” She sat on her heels. “I know it’s silly, and frivolous--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy held up a hand. He grabbed the jumper from where it had fallen onto the floor, opening the neck hole. He gestured for her to sit up. She did, and he tugged the fabric over her head, making sure she wasn’t drowned by the hood. She slid her hands through the arms, and he cuffed the sleeves a few times. He stared down at her for a moment too long as she liberated her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something doesn’t feel right. I’m not sure I should go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine. I am a </span>
  <em>
    <span>witch,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, he smirked. “How could I forget?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on. I’ll sit up in the library until you get back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“One hour.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He swung his bag over his shoulder, and gave her one last look. He stepped into the hearth and was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione swallowed hard. She sank into the comfort of the black cotton, still blessedly laced with lingering cloves. If only he knew what it did to her to be so close and touch his skin. The fact that she shouldn’t--that she was sure he didn’t want it---the forbiddenness of it… made it all the more enticing. She couldn’t afford to be distracted, but… maybe it was okay if he wasn’t there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To think about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shuffled her papers together and closed them back up in the briefcase. He was right. No more work tonight. Instead, she could read. Surely the library had one or two enticing titles, which would make an hour pass by swiftly, and keep her from dwelling too much on whether or not Malfoy’s search would be successful. It was a gamble; who knows what could have happened since they fled the Ministry? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Were people worried about her? She had only missed a few days, which wasn’t completely out of the ordinary. She had taken much longer sick leaves in the past. But her whole department being gone was something of note. The chances that it hadn’t gotten out were slim. She hoped Malfoy had the sense to grab another copy of the Prophet. Part of her wondered if they shouldn’t leak her disappearance. Maybe it would draw the right people out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione padded down the stairs. At the last stair, she stopped. Her letter to Harry was abandoned there, as if Malfoy had deliberately forgotten it. She stuffed the envelope inside the briefcase. She’d make him take it another day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused at the door to the library, which was cracked. She heard something. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is that… is someone there?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Someone was speaking, there was no mistaking it. Someone was talking in the library. The voice was feminine and low, whispering. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Hermione!"</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She whipped around. There were no longer paintings to taunt her. But a voice </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been there, on her shoulder, in her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione pressed her cheek to the door. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why does that voice sound familiar?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She readied her wand, and nudged the door open. The library was empty. The voice persisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Hermione Granger!"</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s probably nothing. You’re tired. You’re hearing things. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She inched into the room. The sconces were dimmed, but at the far end of the room, something was glowing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice grew louder, words overlapping, nearly impossible to understand anything but the occasional snippet of her name. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should call Malfoy back. He’ll be livid. But what if it’s just my mind, playing--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Hermione Jean Granger!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The air in the room deadened. No sound, no presence. Just Hermione, and the glowing circle over the mantle. She moved forward, but her feet were silent on the rug. The air vibrated. With every ripple, she felt like something was tugging at her chest, urging her forward. Step by step. She set the briefcase in the wingback chair. The source of the illumination was a clock. The numbers on the face were obscured by the hot, white, magical signature. She had to squint to look at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of their own volition, her hands raised to grasp the small thing, an heirloom, most likely. The clock was surprisingly small. She could hold it in one hand. It no longer emitted soft whispers. Instead, the light had begun to pulse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held the clock up to her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Granger, stop!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione whirled around and the clock slipped out of her grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world went white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione blinked. Surrounding her on all sides was a curtain of glass--shards of it, sparkling like prisms. A woman stood before her, far off and yet close enough to touch. She was ethereal, elven almost, with long white hair, secured back on each side by a silver comb. The woman’s image hung in every piece of glass, as she seemed to wait for Hermione.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was familiar. The woman had aquiline features, and piercing grey eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Hermione called, or tried, but the air killed her words. The woman smiled and opened her arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips did not move, but the voice whispered in Hermione’s ear:</span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>When the firmament of magic, </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>the Ministry which holds all magical Britons to the highest degree, </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>turns its back on those born by Muggle, </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>one witch shall pull down the five stars.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>When she of muggle birth, </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>the brightest of all witches, </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>wielded like pen and wand, </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>cracks open the underbelly, </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>then will the forked tongue of fate feed on the darkest forces</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>--the Jawless, the unEaten. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Should she perish, the Jawless will rise. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Only one of their ranks, </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>a defector, </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>can keep Her safe. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>When Slytherin’s heir, </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>wielded like shield and sword, </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>pierces his own heart and ends his line, </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>then will the forked tongue of fate be sated. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>The Jawless will fall with him.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>All at once, Hermione knew the woman. Blonde hair, thin features--those eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Narcissa.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Like rushing water, the shards of glass fell and shattered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wake up, Granger.” A stiff hand shook her shoulder and Hermione jolted awake. Inches from her face, Malfoy’s own peered at her in a hard glare. “We have to go.” He straightened. Hermione blinked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They know about the prophecy.” He sniffed as if it disgusted him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. He made space enough for her to pass and she yanked her trainers on.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ron Weasley</span>
  </em>
  <span> told them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ron?” Her heart sank. “Who would he--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Jawless. He’s been working with them. But, the bloody idiot doesn’t know what the prophecy is about. It’s a good thing you’re the only person I’ve told.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione frowned. “That was the point, wasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes, of course.” He scoffed. “Let’s get going.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione scratched her head, but she followed. “I had a weird dream,” she said, taking the steps carefully. She stared at the back of his head. When had he cut his hair? It was markedly shorter than before. There was something about him… </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, gods.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It came rushing back. She couldn’t remember going back to bed--in fact, she couldn’t remember anything after the shards of glass rained down. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t really Malfoy. “Yes, um… you and I went on holiday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” He grunted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes… quite romantic. All alone in… oh, it must have been Spain!” She sighed dreamily. He did not turn around, nor did he seem to hear her. He just kept trudging downward. Not with his usual deliberate grace, but with heavy, sulking footsteps. The panic continued to rise in her chest as he headed straight for the front door. She lagged a bit behind until he turned the corner and out of sight. She sidled along the wall, and snuck inside the library. Hermione gasped. The sconces were blown out; glass shards littered the carpets. The clock was smashed on the hearth. She carefully extricated her wand from the wreckage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, she caught sight of the briefcase. Sitting open. Empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, no, no!</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The door creaked open and the facsimile of Draco Malfoy peered in the room. “What are you doing?” he asked gruffly. She fixed a pleasant look on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I left my bag, but it’s not here.” She shrugged. The man rolled his eyes and turned away. Hermione whipped out her wand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Petrificus totalus!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He fell harder than a rock. His wand was easy enough to locate in his outer pocket, which was attached to a garish green velvet long-coat, the likes of which the Draco Malfoy she knew wouldn’t be caught dead in. She tossed his wand away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who are you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Incarcerous!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> A thin golden rope wound itself around the man’s body, but he was face down, so she could hardly try to identify him. She toed his shoulder hesitantly. He wasn’t too difficult to push over onto his back, rigid as he was. Still, he appeared every bit the part of Draco Malfoy. Younger, though. She was struck with a thought. With the tip of her wand, Hermione lifted his sleeve. Sure enough. He had the Dark Mark, but it lay smoothly against his skin. This was Malfoy </span>
  <em>
    <span>prior</span>
  </em>
  <span> to his father’s death. Whoever this was had been planning for a while, and they had intimate knowledge of how to get into the Manor. This person, be they a witch or wizard, had magic known to this place. She probably knew them, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How long had the real Malfoy been gone? She flicked her wand and moved the petrified man out into the atrium. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Accio report!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Papers rustled from the inside the man’s coat, but the ropes were tied too tightly for them to liberate themselves. She sighed. Was it worth calling Malfoy back early, just for this? She could handle it. He’d be back soon, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She released him from the ropes, which slithered into the grout between the stones and disappeared. He was still petrified, as far as she could tell. A decent wizard could break out eventually, but a capable caster could bind a formidable opponent for as long as an hour--she was more than capable. Still, she nudged his knee with her foot. The man didn’t move. Satisfied, she held up her wand again--it flew from her fingers across the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>White, hot pain seared through her shins, bringing Hermione to her knees. The man who would be Malfoy sat up, smiling at her in a way that Malfoy had never done, even in his most petulant days--like he intended to kill her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the show,” he said with pointed glee. “Who knew that you’d be stupid enough to conceal an orb outside the Hall of Prophecy, and in </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>house, no less.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not Draco Malfoy.” She gritted her teeth. The sting in her legs prickled unceasingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t I?” He stood tall. “I know everything that matters to prove it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you see when the orb broke?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clicked his tongue. “You fainted, and all the bulbs exploded. You really are just a fragile little thing, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart was in her throat. He didn’t see the prophecy. Whoever he was, he still wouldn’t know what the prophecy said. At least she could bide some time until Malfoy returned. Everything she had seen was hidden from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, now. You underestimate me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione closed her eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His hands grasped her chin and forced her to look up at him. She took a deep breath. She knew he was inside her head the moment a dark shadow creeped in. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The stone is cold, and the corner is digging into my knee,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s cold because nobody lives here anymore, because there’s nobody to keep it warm, because the Malfoy’s have moved on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The man chuckled, but the shadow pushed further.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The stone is cold, my shins are aching--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be like that. Show me what I’m looking for, you stupid girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her anger was building. Enough of this. Enough fear, enough intimidation tactics and games. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I am strong. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione focused on the man’s grip on her jaw. Centered her thoughts on it, put her energy towards it. It was insane, but worth a try. She ignored the dark shadow, emptying her mind of everything except the man’s skin against hers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Relashio!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In an instant, he was thrown backwards from her. Hermione silently accio’d her wand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stupify! </span>
  </em>
  <span>The spell hit him between the eyes and he was once again stunned. With two more flips of the wrist, the man was bound and gagged. She couldn’t stand, but she could still do her worst. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was the point in going on and on with this pretender? He’d only kill her, escape, report back to the Jawless--all for what? What was the point in considering any other option. Hermione panted, pulling the sleeves of the jumper up to her elbows. She could do it. She had no choice. Not after seeing the prophecy, and especially not after one of them infiltrated what was supposed to be their safe house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For Malfoy’s sake, she had to do it. For the sake of her mission, why she was writing that blasted report in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione leveled her wand at his forehead. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Obliviate!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gasped for breath. She was lucky she hadn’t splinched herself, apparating like that; it had been a while since she had visited, who knows what sort of people might be around? What if </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t up for having visitors? The farm was small, surrounded by a wooden fence in the middle of nowhere; it was the only place Hermione could think of that she hadn’t told anyone about, and she hadn’t had much time to reconsider it before apparating. The briefcase skidded a few feet away, full of its proper contents once again. Numbly, she fumbled in her trouser pocket for the coin and tapped it three times. She dropped both her wand and the coin on the ground and fell forward. Hermione caught herself on her elbows just as the notable </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop!</span>
  </em>
  <span> of apparition sounded behind her. His trademark huff followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hermione!” He grabbed her shoulder in concern, but she took his wrist, panting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy held her against him, liberating her legs from beneath her body. “What happened?,” he asked. “Where are we?” His eyebrows were deeply furrowed. Even though she had confronted the very likeness of him, she was struck by how much he had changed, and how his eyes were filled with concern, rather than ire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hungary,” she said. “You… you came home, woke me up--only it wasn’t you! It was someone who knew the Manor well enough to break through the wards, but had last seen you before your father died. The polyjuice must have been brewed by a skilled wizard, because he was… perfect. If I didn’t… </span>
  <em>
    <span>know you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I would’ve been fooled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is he now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably still unconscious in the atrium.” She winced. Her legs were killing her. “I couldn’t take the chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you do to him?” He sounded amazed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obliviated him. I’m a professional at it, in case you weren’t aware.” She gripped his arm. “Could you help?” She rolled up the legs of her trousers. Two angry lacerations cut across her shins. He huffed in a frustrated breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy tapped his wand to each of her shins. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Episkey!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The skin knitted back together, but left two pink scars. They would still bruise. She laid her head on his shoulder in relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks. Draco… The orb is gone. I heard a voice calling to me, and I picked up the clock, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> came and--I dropped it. The orb broke.” She cleared her throat. “I saw the prophecy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...you did?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hid it in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>clock?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffed. “I only put it there a couple days ago. It’s not like I had a lot of options.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you destroyed it--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously, I lied!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> see? How did you find it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. I heard it calling my name. I touched it, and I saw a white void. There was a tree. It spoke the prophecy, and then it went black. What did you see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A woman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone you knew?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not well, but yes. Help me up.” She blushed. She was grateful he couldn’t see her face. He wound an arm around her waist and helped her stand, making sure she was steady before stepping back from her. He leaned against the fence post.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Strange that we would see different things,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. When I asked the </span>
  <em>
    <span>evil </span>
  </em>
  <span>Draco what he saw, he said he just saw me faint. I think we’re the only ones who can receive it. Which is lucky, I suppose. It’s a good thing he didn’t get the best of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grasped her shoulders. “You should’ve summoned me! You could’ve been killed--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I thought I could handle it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t our agreement!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I messed up! But I kept him from getting into my head, so how about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good for you! Next time you have a run-in with a murderous doppelganger of me, maybe he’ll have the decency to ask nicely before bestowing </span>
  <em>
    <span>the killing curse--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She poked him in the chest. “I am a skilled witch. I’m alive right now thanks to the fact that I spent some time on wandless magic after the war--even though </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>think I’m liable to die at any moment, I assure you that I protected myself well in your absence. You may be prophesied to protect me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>O heir of Slytherin,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but I am not some inept damsel! I’m Hermione Granger. They write prophecies about me!” She huffed in his face and he held up his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Impressive. And you didn’t even cry this time.” His mouth quirked up and she smacked his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are an idiot!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite his levity, he was mollified by her outburst. He was downright sheepish. “Well. I suppose you did. Handle it.” Malfoy carded a hand through his hair. He produced a folded up piece of parchment. “This was all I found, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione unfolded the paper. In bold, red letters, it simply read:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>COME OUT, COME OUT, WHEREVER YOU ARE</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She blanched. “Where did you find this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fished a fresh pack of cigarettes from his front pocket and balanced one between his lips. “Nailed to my desk.” He lit the cigarette and took a drag. “Every other place you asked me to check was cleaned out. S’why I had time to pick up a new pack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared at him, mouth agape. “My office?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Empty. Like you were never there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… what I have is all we’re going to get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods. I’m… I shouldn’t have wasted your time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m stuck to your side, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione took the hand and held it, winding her fingers with his. “Draco… I knew he wasn’t you. From the moment he turned up. I knew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded. “Do you have any idea who it really was?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she sighed. “But I think it’s safe to assume that he’s no longer a threat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a couple puffs and tilted his chin up as he blew out so the smoke wouldn’t hover around her head. “May I?” She held out her hand. He raised an eyebrow but did not question her. He turned over the cigarette. She turned away from him so he couldn’t watch her take her tentative first smoke. “I can’t believe you stopped for cigarettes,” she mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled, despite everything. “Who is that?” He gestured to the open kitchen window, which overlooked the small garden. A woman stood at the sink, humming. She had chin-length curly hair. Malfoy frowned. “I swear I’ve seen her before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione held the proffered cigarette and took a shallow drag. She didn’t answer right away. The smoke burned her throat a little, but the mingling taste of cinnamon and clove soothed it straight after. Malfoy’s eyes snapped to her lips as they persed, allowing the smoke to escape in a long, slow sigh. She held up the smoldering cigarette, but her tongue darted out and she sucked her bottom lip. “Mmm.” She could see why he liked them. The flavor almost made the burn worth it. Of course his vice was a feast for the senses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the cigarette back and Hermione leaned against the wooden gate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my mother.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oooh, cliffhanger! Sorry! :) These dummies. *Sigh*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hermione's mother gives her a nudge and Draco admits a few things.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She wasn’t sure what she was going to say--it had been several months since she had been able to visit, and this was too much to put on Malfoy right now, but after four nights in Malfoy Manor, just one on her mother’s farm sounded perfect. Malfoy stood behind her. Heat radiated at her lower back as he hovered there. She raised her hand to knock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What was there to say? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hello, mum. We’re on the run because a man who looked exactly like this man tried to kidnap me, because I have top secret information that has the power to destroy the ruling body of British witches and wizards. There was a prophecy about it, but I destroyed it by accident. Can we stay the night?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s alive.” He spoke lowly, and formed the words as if he wasn’t sure it was possible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hungary.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You remember my meeting with the Hungarian ambassador. Albert connected me with a few doctors here… after my father passed. She’s doing well, I think.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face betrayed nothing. He nodded once. She felt choked with nerves. The woman inside was the most precious thing in her life, the raison d'être for the briefcase full of sensitive papers, for Draco Malfoy coming back into her life, for losing sleep, for Justin and Natalie’s deaths. Helen Granger was the point of origin for it all, and she didn’t know it. Hermione wound her hair back in a low bun and secured it with her wand. No need to hide that from her mother, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look fine,” he said, touching her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione scoffed. “I am wearing your jumper, and bloody trousers.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See? Perfect.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just so you know, she... knows about magic. I haven't hidden things from her. It's alright to talk about it a bit."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll be sure to give her my famous lecture on magical history."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn’t help but smile. He reached over her shoulder and knocked. His other hand remained secured to her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Coming!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The door opened just a crack and Helen peeked her head out. “My darling, you are a sight for sore eyes,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Who’s this?” She threw the door open and put her hands on her hips. She was the spitting image of her daughter--shorter hair, and deeper smile lines, but there was no mistaking where Hermione got her brown eyes and determined gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mum, I’m sorry I didn’t phone--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nonsense. There’s nothing I could be doing more important than hosting my child and her… </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>tall friend. Hullo--” she held out her hand to the man standing behind Hermione and gave him an unsubtle onceover-- “Helen Granger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco Malfoy.” His hand overwhelmed hers, but Helen patted it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve heard that name before…” She narrowed her eyes at Hermione. “Why have I heard that name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, probably no reason. Can we come in?” Hermione was flushed. Helen tugged on Malfoy’s arm, leaving Hermione behind to shut the door. Malfoy had to duck to pass through the doorways. It would be comical, almost, if it didn’t make her brain turn to goo to see him led off by her mother. He peered at her over his shoulder; he smirked in a way that made Hermione dread whatever he was about to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for having us, Helen. I hope we’re not intruding.” His voice was low and velvety, post-cigarette, which gave him an aristocratic charm that she hadn’t seen in a long while. It was a small glimpse of what he could have been, in another world where the family Malfoy was still in the thick of high society Purebloods. Affable, snobby, and a bit of a rake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helen clung to his elbow. “Oh, I couldn’t be happier! Sit. I was just about to eat supper. You hungry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Surprisingly, no.” Hermione’s stomach was in her throat and she didn’t have much of an appetite after the events of the day. She set the briefcase on the hall table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco will eat, won’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyebrows shot up and he smiled warmly, looping the strap of his pack over the chair. “I’m famished.” Hermione watched from the doorway as her mother stroked Malfoy’s bicep, which was a blatant excuse to feel the muscle which strained his shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good man. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Helen ladled a bowl of something from the stove; it smelled like basil and garlic, and it made Hermione’s traitorous stomach growl. Malfoy’s brow furrowed; she must’ve been staring at him because his eyes darkened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione vigorously shook her head and braced her hands on the back of a chair. “Sudden assignment brought us this way,” she said quickly. “And I missed you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, love.” Helen scooted behind Malfoy’s chair with two bowls in hand, setting one before her male guest and the other before Hermione. She kissed her temple. “I’ve missed you too.” And then, softer, just in her ear, “you want to tell me why your bully is sitting in my kitchen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s cheeks grew hot. “He’s my... partner. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not like that!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>with Ron,” Helen persisted. Hermione eye-roll was enough to pacify her. For now. “Draco? When you’re finished eating, would you terribly mind chopping some wood for me? My back has been killing me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was surprised. “Um. Certainly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione exchanged a look with her mother that she hoped conveyed her annoyance. She spoke softly to the woman, who was still smiling innocently at her daughter. “Your back, huh? You don’t have a fireplace.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire pit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> now. I’ll use it eventually.” Helen waggled her eyebrows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mum!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eat, darling.” Helen kissed her daughter’s cheek again and disappeared down the hall, humming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione sat, and reluctantly took the spoon Malfoy extended to her. He had been diligently consuming the dish in front of him, but he sat back as she took a tentative bite. “I neglected to feed you supper.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t think about it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It should have occurred to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You</span>
  </em>
  <span> were busy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could’ve picked up… take-away. I was right there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugged. “It’s fine, Draco.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, I bought bloody cigarettes at the shop around the corner from my apparition point, I could’ve gotten some shawarma, or something--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled at the thought of Malfoy consuming anything that was served in a styrofoam container. “You know about shawarma?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>total</span>
  </em>
  <span> toff, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t you?” Helen reappeared with an armful of fabric, silencing whatever retort he would’ve had. He snorted anyhow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here, love. If you change, I think I can get the stains out of your trousers.” She set the clothing on the back of Hermione’s chair and sat beside her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s eyes flashed to her companion. The bag Malfoy had gone to her flat and packed for her, which contained all the clothing she owned (except for a strange dearth of jumpers), she had left it without thinking. She was doomed to walk through the world in a borrowed jumper and ruined trousers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached over and clasped her hand. “It’s alright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It had </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clothes can be replaced.” He squeezed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helen nodded in agreement. “I’ll loan you a few things, love.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There you have it.” His spoon tinkled against his now-empty bowl. Somehow between sitting down and consoling her over her entire wardrobe being lost for now, he had inhaled the pasta. He pushed back from the table. “Helen, I am at your disposal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh good! The axe is out front with the wood pile.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll get to it.” He didn’t release Hermione’s hand until he passed her chair, and even then his fingers lingered a moment at her jaw. She could feel her mother’s delighted gaze on the side of her face. She peered at him. One side of his mouth quirked up. He knew exactly what he was being asked to do, and he didn’t resist it. He was relaxed. Something in his manner was easy. She wrinkled her nose at him and shook her head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go on,” she murmured. He winked, and set his wand beside her on the table. She stabbed it into her bun beside her own wand, which made him toss his head back and silently laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The front door opened and shut. Wordlessly, Helen stood and set to washing Malfoy’s bowl in the basin. She peered out the window and shook her head as the first </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk!</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounded. “He seems... nice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mum…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s gentle with you. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks </span>
  </em>
  <span>at you like you’re the ripest apple, ready to be plucked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s sort of his job, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helen rolled her eyes. “Mmmhm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His ‘job’.” She made air quotes out of soap bubbles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s protecting me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does he protect your assets?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione scoffed. “I can’t believe you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a ‘yes’ if I ever heard it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s head met the table top and she could swear she was going to perish at any moment from mortification. “Oh my god, we’re not having this conversation!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not? What happened to Ron?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t work,” Hermione shrugged. The pang of admitting it out loud hit her square in the chest, and she stood. It made her skin hurt. Saying it severed the thing inside which still clung to the idea that one day, he might come to his senses. Suddenly, she needed to be close to someone who might hug her without reluctance. Lucky for her, when one’s mother was Helen Eliza Granger, one was not without gentle, soothing embraces. She went to her mother’s side and followed her gaze, looping her arm through her mother’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy had removed his shirt. He swung the axe over his head and brought it down squarely, bisecting the log. The two sides fell apart with a clatter. He leaned down and repositioned one of the logs, which made his trousers--delicious dark denim--cling tighter to his arse. Not that she had ever inspected it before, but it was a shapely arse. Hermione swallowed hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Darling...” Helen dried off her hands and wound her arm around Hermione’s waist. “He hurt you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No… we’re past all that. Draco’s changed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not who I’m referring to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione tore her eyes away from the feast of muscle, and her heart sank to see the knowing expression on her mother’s face. Her vision blurred, and she nodded. “It wasn’t deliberate, on his part.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t painful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” She sniffled, and Helen hugged her. “It turns out that loving someone isn’t always enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have a huge capacity for loving, Hermione Jean. You don’t want to be with someone who thinks you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t work.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just so lonely, mum.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, darling. It will be alright.” Hermione curled her fingers into Helen’s jumper, which was made of a soft, buttery chenille.  “When you got here tonight, you were injured, weren’t you? I saw you. You couldn’t stand.” Hermione pulled back enough to look her mother in the eye. She nodded. “That man--” Helen pointed towards the blond lumberjack-- “dropped to his knees and held you. If I were you, I would give a little more consideration to a man willing to fall on his knees for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mum…” Hermione glanced out the window. At that moment, Malfoy looked up, sensing her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to worry that he had caught them watching. The light from the window painted a streak of golden light across his torso. His pupils were electrified. She stared at him, and he straightened, wiping his forehead of sweat. “He smokes,” she mumbled, as if that were a reason for her mother to protest, as if that was a deal-breaker, compared to a host of shared trauma.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I saw,” Helen said with a chuckle. She gave Hermione a pointed look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was the only time, I swear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are more important things.” Hermione hugged her mother close again and didn’t budge from that position when the front door opened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That should last you a while,” Malfoy said from the kitchen doorway. Helen rubbed Hermione’s back and stepped away. Hermione turned, allowing herself to look at him all shirtless and sweaty and staring at her with a look of concern. He raised an eyebrow, and he gestured with his head for her to come out to the living room. Helen gave her a gentle push.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Talk to him,” she whispered. She busied herself with Hermione’s untouched bowl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione followed Malfoy into the other room, and he moved around her to stand with his back to the open doorway. He loomed over her, but his face was painted with concern. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” she muttered. “Being around her makes me emotional.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I felt your pain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gulped. “Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was sharp, like a stab, and I didn’t want to intrude--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She asked me about Ron. I explained things.” Several emotions crossed his face before it settled into an unruffled politeness. “And she inquired after </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And… that was painful?” he asked, stepping closer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was it? Since he came back into her life, it seemed to be anything but. Why lie when he could look inside her head and see the truth for himself? She gulped. He wouldn’t, though. He hadn’t been tip-toeing into her mind since he accidentally projected into her dream. He no longer dipped in without permission to gauge her thoughts. He didn’t want to know anything that she didn’t tell him out loud, and that was gratifying. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not </span>
  </em>
  <span>painful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the rest of her life, Hermione wanted to remember the way his eyes flashed from dark and concerned to a look akin to… hope. His eyes crinkled, but he didn’t let the warmth he was feeling make it to his mouth. Instead, he raised a hand and cupped her neck, letting his thumb rest on her jaw. And now she saw it clearly. He cared about her. She had seen flickers of it when he consoled her after occlumency lessons, hell--in every moment he had reached for her to comfort her. Since the kiss. Somehow, she had convinced herself it was something he did out of duty. She craned her head back to keep his gaze. He laid his shirt over his shoulder and took her face in both hands, eyes searching hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t bring you pain,” he said. His voice lilted upward in a hopeful question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grasped his wrists, leaning into his touch. “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He huffed a ragged breath. “You feel this. Tell me I’m not mad.” He pressed his forehead to hers. He had to lean down considerably to do it, but it made her feel shielded and held. It was like something cracked open, the delicate shield he used to keep her at arm's length. Hermione chose her words carefully because once she said them, she would not be able to deny it to </span>
  <em>
    <span>herself, </span>
  </em>
  <span>anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know how it happened,” she confessed. “It came up so quickly--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No?” she peeped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe I have felt a pull to you since I was twelve.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shut her eyes and shivered as he ghosted his lips against her brow. “That explains a lot,” she sighed. He puffed against her forehead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never been accused of subtlety.” He tucked fallen strands of hair behind her ears. It was a deliberately intimate gesture and made her nerves rise again. Too much, too intense, too perfect a moment to happen in the midst of mourning the loss of Ron. It wasn’t fair to Malfoy. It wasn’t honest. But it was a slice of hope.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just… since I’m exhausted, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>just chopped wood for my mother so she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>ogle </span>
  </em>
  <span>you--” He sniffed, which could only be construed as a contained laugh, and his hands fell to her shoulders. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” he agreed, rubbing her arms. His hands fell away, but he was projecting a heady affection, which otherwise might have been masked by his skills with Occlumency. She had often seen his expression harden behind the walls. Receiving his true emotion without a mask was alarming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gods.” She reddened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he said, though from his tone he most certainly was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not,</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’m not occluding at the moment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do that often, around me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve seen what my having an outburst of feeling does to you. It seemed proper.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked away. “Anger is not an emotion I can process particularly well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Anger </span>
  </em>
  <span>is not what I’m feeling, Hermione.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then don’t hide from me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let a gentle smirk fill his face. “Yes, your majesty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes. “Such a prat. Can I ask you something?” She trailed her fingers down his arm and laced them with his. “Why now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought we were going to talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry. There’s a lot more to say.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why tell you, now?” he clarified. “Granger, I cannot go on pretending like watching you suffer doesn’t affect me. You are the proverbial bottle of rare, singular scotch.” He touched her chin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m a wreck--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You</span>
  </em>
  <span> are a pretty compelling reason not to go to Azkaban, and I would rather expose myself to you than let you go on believing that you’re alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cheeks were on fire. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> listening in!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not a saint. You were </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> staring at me!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does Ron know how you feel?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would it matter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugged. “I… guess I wonder what he would think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He had ten years. It’s my turn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart leapt. “That’s not fair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll find I’m pretty selfish.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione stood on her tip-toes, grasping the henley and pushing it to the floor. The boundary of touch felt magnetically reversed now that they had acknowledged this </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> between them. Not touching him or being touched by him felt wrong. Why not give in to it? She hooked her arms around his neck. His height was just annoying now, when she was trying to have a serious conversation with him. He lifted her automatically, and hugged her to his chest. “I think you would go to Azkaban for the rest of your life if it meant I was safe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> not selfish?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. It’s stupid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nosed her cheek. “I don’t know that Weasley’s testimony will be enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you need from him? I can help--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He huffed in annoyance. “You don’t get a say.” His grip around her waist tightened, and he pressed his lips to her shoulder as if to say that the topic was over. “Do you think your mum will let me use her bath?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think she might follow you in there if you let her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook with laughter. “Will </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t let mum hear you. She will start the water herself and go stay with a friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t see the problem.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione smiled into his neck. Every hair on her body was standing on end. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gods,</span>
  </em>
  <span> this was so not the place to have this conversation, and yet the fact that it was happening at all, in her mother’s living room, somehow made it feel more precious. She might overhear, she might see, and yet Malfoy</span>
  <em>
    <span>--Draco</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t mind. A giddy moment felt disingenuous in light of what they were running from, and yet… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not in my mother’s house,” she breathed, though she wasn’t entirely convinced, herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He set her on her feet again; his arms remained looped around her. “Pardon me for taking a moment to dream after </span>
  <em>
    <span>five days</span>
  </em>
  <span> of stress.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think it’s going to get easier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not in every regard. But in some.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go wash up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man had the nerve to kiss the corner of her mouth, but did not give her a chance to reciprocate. He turned and retrieved his shirt from the floor, and walked off in search of a bath. It punctuated the admission they had shared with a controlled finality. He had deep, intense feelings for her, and that was that. She could just deal with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione peeked into the kitchen. Her mother wasn’t there. She found her way down the hall, following the sound of soft humming, and found Helen sorting a pile of clothes on her bed. When Hermione rounded the doorway, Helen made a satisfied hum of approval. The door to the washroom closed at the opposite end of the hall, so Hermione felt safe to cover her mouth and laugh conspiratorially. “How much did you hear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“None,” Helen chuckled, “but you look flushed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione groaned. “Well. All I’ll say is, you may have been correct.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A mother knows these things.” Helen winked. “The bed is made up in the spare room for you both. I’d apologize that I got rid of the sofa recently, but I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry, and that giant of a man would not have fit on it anyway. Do you need anything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eight hours of sleep wouldn’t be unwelcome. Thanks, mum.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I put the pyjamas on the bed for you. I’ll have a few things for you to take with you in the morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mum…” Hermione stepped further into the room. “We… we may not see each other for a long time after this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You always come back to me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I always will.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helen bid her goodnight and Hermione retreated to the spare room, which shared a wall with the bath. The sound of the shower running was punctuated with droplets hitting the porcelain in an irregular pattern as Draco washed up. She tried not to dwell on the fact that he was completely naked on the other side of the wall, or that he would be sharing this small room with her. She resolved to herself to think of him going forward as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Draco.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That was his name. Calling him ‘Malfoy’ felt like an accusation of character, and she knew better. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was both a relief and panic-inducing that he had opened himself up to her. Now, she had another person to lose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She changed out of her only clothing items and thoroughly scourgified herself, before changing into her mother’s pyjamas. They were quite cozy and printed with tiny, dancing teapots. The legs of her trousers were easy enough to clean; fresh blood didn’t stain too badly, even if it was on denim. Hermione laid his jumper reverently over the foot of the bed and sat down. Her muscles ached as she relaxed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gods.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Five days was not long at all to have one’s world flipped on its head. She missed her cottage, </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>bed with the perfect number of pillows, her owl, her books and how they bowed the shelves. She missed her garden with it’s untameable ivy and stubborn rose bushes. Her solitude, but not the loneliness. In other ways, she missed the constant warmth of Draco’s room in the Manor with the roaring hearth and the way the light streamed through the great windows in the atrium. The library… that beautiful library which was now a minefield of glass, she missed the plush carpets and the chair in which he had taught her the first lesson on Occlumency. So much had happened to them. Every day spanned a decade of emotions and occurances--they operated in fast-forward. Now, they needed a plan, and she needed to finish her report. Hermione held her and Draco’s wands and considered them. They looked well together. Then, she scoffed. She was becoming </span>
  <em>
    <span>indulgent.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shall I brace myself for ennui, or are you finished?” Draco stood in the doorway in a fresh change of clothing (a soft looking knit jumper and green tartan pyjama pants--curse him for having remembered his own pack), with steaming mug of tea in one hand, and her father’s briefcase in the other. She smiled gently and scooted over on the bed. He closed the door and sat beside her, setting the briefcase on the bedside table. “Nice pyjamas.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that for me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it isn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gasped in mock-indignation. “Chamomile is my favorite!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” He sipped </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> tea and eyed her. “If you’re lucky, I might share it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused for a moment. “On second thought, Granger. Why don’t you have it? I’m much more of an English breakfast man. This is too </span>
  <em>
    <span>flowery.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She took the mug from him greedily, and snuggled her hands into her sleeves to guard them from the heat. She handed him his wand in exchange. He leaned over until his shoulder pressed to hers. “Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>I made it for you, woman.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mum always keeps a box of chamomile on hand for me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"She doesn't seem unwell, despite what you said."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione shook her head. “It's been an ordeal to get her healthy again. That’s how this whole thing began. I just wanted to bring a few healers from Russia to England, specialists in memory-related ailments, specifically </span>
  <em>
    <span>Obliviation</span>
  </em>
  <span> patients. Covington blocked their visas, so I moved her here, where they can legally visit. Then, I researched his record out of spite. All because of mum.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frowned. “She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>obliviated?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right before the war broke out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who would have done that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took several deep sips of the tea and let the flowery liquid coat her tongue. “...I did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco set his hand on her knee and rubbed it in reassurance, which gave her courage to elaborate. “It took a while for me to convince her to move </span>
  <em>
    <span>here </span>
  </em>
  <span>after my father died. It’s hard to visit more than a few times a year. I filed an immigration request with Ambassador Dolman so I can move her somewhere I don’t need permission to apparate, like Wales, but he’s overwhelmed with the refugee crisis. I probably shouldn’t have brought us here, but it was the only place I could think of where nobody of consequence knows what it means to me, even Ron.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Except me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did your father die?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled at him sadly. “You saw what happened.” </span>
  <span>Hermione turned away from him and dragged her mass of hair over her shoulder, balancing her nearly empty mug on her knee. She plaited her thick locks, choosing what she might say to explain what had really happened. Somehow, Draco had become the only person to whom the truth wasn’t met with automatic judgment, so the best thing to share would be the truth, right? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I told you that I killed him, what would you do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt his weight shift on the bed as he sat on his knees behind her. “Did you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would it matter if I did?” She secured the braid with her hair-tie and finished off the rest of her tea. It was bitter, or maybe tasteless when up against the admissions in her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It does to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And frankly, I’m the last person who should weigh in on that particular topic.” Draco touched her elbow and eased the empty mug out of her hands. Hermione yawned, despite feeling ready to cry. He held up the quilt and gestured for her to slide beneath the covers. He flicked his wand and dimmed the light by half. Hermione pillowed her hands under her head, facing him as he pulled back his side of the covers and mirrored her posture. “Is this alright?” he asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. You don’t mind being on that side, do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a bed, not a quidditch pitch.” He considered her for a moment, before gesturing for her to raise her head. He slipped a small decorative pillow, a little velvet thing, beneath her cheek. When she settled down again, Hermione felt overwhelmed by the comfort of the position. For extra measure, Draco tugged the quilt up to her chin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waited, watching her with a patient intensity in his stare. Like he had all the time in the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione held out her hand. He took it. “I obliviated them </span>
  <em>
    <span>both,</span>
  </em>
  <span> back when Muggle-born parents were being targeted. I tried to reverse it once the war was over, but… </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t the same. He became angry, vicious--he hit her. That day… the memory I showed you… as he choked me, I closed my eyes, and… there was a big explosion, all the lights went out. He was unconscious when I came to. When the paramedics arrived, they said he had a heart attack. He died on the way to hospital. I don’t know if I did it, or if his heart truly gave out. That is why I panicked when you told me what you had done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stroked her knuckles. “You gave your mother a new life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to be a killer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You get used to it.” His expression was sad and resigned, like he felt guilty. She squeezed his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t mean it like that--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not upset with you.” Draco rolled onto his back and laid her hand flat on his chest. “It’s animalistic, it’s instinctual.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you think about the person after? Feel guilt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Every time, save one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t feel the least amount of… pity, for your father?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head slowly. “I can’t spare one ounce of it. He took my mother from me, my childhood… There are countless unspeakable things for which I do not forgive him. No, I think he deserved to die.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I pity him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why in Godric’s name would </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because he never got to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco’s eyes closed and his face hardened. “Don’t do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What am I doing?” Hermione sat up on her elbow and frowned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t will me goodness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t have to imagine what I see.” She traced his brow with one finger, which made him open his eyes. He let his wards fall again, let his brow furrow in pain he didn’t seem able or ready to speak of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <span>right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go to sleep.” He turned away from her, and held her hand hostage, so she was forced to snuggle against his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tomorrow,” she breathed against his neck, inserting herself into the space on pillow, “we must visit Hannah Finch-Fletchley.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever you want.” His voice was muffled against the pillowcase.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Well, if that was how they were going to operate, Hermione had a few more requests. “I’d like you to kiss me, again.” She spoke the words into his back. His shoulder softened a bit, and he drew her palm to his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will when you’re ready.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for your feedback, it has been so heartening! This is a chatty chapter, a bit of lightness before our two favorite dummies get thrown back into the thick of it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Draco has a bad dream and takes Hermione into his memories for a closer look. And then, he thanks her.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You've been so patient--there is smut ahead! There is another incident of memory sharing in this chapter, which is italicised. Happy reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco jolted awake when two icy cold hands grasped his cheeks. He froze. He knew better than to come awake fighting; his nerves were attuned. Hermione’s worried face was poised over his. He closed his eyes and breathed out harshly. The sky outside the window was still black, but the clock on the wall ticked incessantly onward.</p><p>“You were calling to me,” she said. She traced his cheekbones with her thumbs, and he took her hands in his. He tugged her to his chest without a word. She was still there, she hadn’t run off to <em> god knows where. </em> She didn’t hate him, and she wasn’t alone or vulnerable to attack. She was here, a soft, pink thing with lips pursed in a moue of concern. Hermione rested her chin on his sternum.</p><p>Maybe if he kissed her now, it wouldn’t count against his control--<em> when she was ready </em> could be reset for circumstances other than this. He folded her into his embrace. Her unruly curls caught in the crook of his elbow, liberated from the plait she had created the night before, which forced her to tilt her head back. She nosed his jaw.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Her breath puffed, and her fingers crept to his scruffy chin, reminding him that he desperately needed a shave.</p><p>Draco didn’t answer. <em> It’s you. </em>He couldn’t even remember the dream, itself, just panic that she was gone. He held her. He cocooned himself around her. Then, he spoke against her skin.</p><p>“Promise me… if you believe there is something you must do, which doesn’t involve me… you’ll tell me. If you think I’ve done something wrong, mis-stepped, pissed you off, anything. Tell me. I don’t care if you scream at me. <em> Tell me.” </em></p><p>“Oh…” she hugged him tight. </p><p>“Please, Hermione.”</p><p>“Promise,” she said. She kissed his jaw. “Must’ve been a terrible dream.”</p><p>“Mmm.” He scooted down the pillow so they were eye-to-eye. Hermione smiled sleepily. Those eyes. Deep, caramel. Sometimes gold, in the right light. Always warm. She was so tiny in his arms, too, a contained package of emotions with impossibly soft skin. He narrowed his eyes. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I wonder… when the next time will be, when we’re able to be alone.” He made little circles at the small of her back. “How many mornings can I expect you beside me when I wake up?” Her cheeks and chest flushed, and it gave him a little rush of joy to see her so affected.</p><p>“Do you want to tell me about your dream?” Her fingers crept to his cheek and rested there.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Why not? Might help.” </p><p>“I’m supposed to be <em> composed.” </em></p><p>“Stop parroting my panic back to me,” she sighed, though she touched the corner of his mouth in concern. “Whatever you saw wasn’t real.”</p><p>He snorted. “I know.”</p><p>“You can tell me, whatever it is. This might be the one time we’re in a bed together, unhurried.” Hermione’s hand had migrated to the low vee of his jumper, and she curled her fingers into the neck.</p><p>“I hope not.” Draco attempted to ignore the prickle of arousal which traversed his spine. She deliberately ignored his gaze, electing instead to settle once more in the crook of his neck. He tilted her head back. “Can I share something with you?” he asked. She blinked. “A memory, not the dream, <em> forget </em>the dream.” Hermione nodded almost imperceptibly. “All you have to do is follow my flame, alright?”</p><p>She smiled mischievously. “You’re going to teach me Legilimency?”</p><p>“Basic legilimency is an infantile skill, Granger, now focus.” He tapped her temple and she shut her eyes. He pulled her face to his. His lips tested hers, flirting with her upper lip with the softest of touches, and fleeing just as quickly. She gasped. He focused.</p><p>*</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Draco ignited his flame where he always did--floating in his mind just behind her eyes and spiraling inward, looking for that unmistakable flicker of wings. They always fluttered, the little golden things, when he found his way into her head. He wondered if she knew how her presence appeared to him. Just there--the golden butterfly dove from the deep and met his blue flame, swirling around him in recognition. Come on, little one. He darted back from her. She followed, obediently, through the inky blackness of her concentration and over the divide between them--what once had been a chasm of awareness was now a glassy pool connecting the shore of his mind to hers. The silvery water fizzled as he hopped along the surface, and her golden glow radiated in the mist.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> There was only one place to go, one place to lead her. She needed to see his version of the prophecy, and why it was so dire. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> He crept through the grey until the mists overwhelmed it in unending white light, to the tree. He led her to the base of the flowering tree, the one which fed from the body of his father in the South West corner of the Malfoy estate, which flowered unceasingly with blood-red blooms. Wings flapped as she circled the trunk--once, twice--five times--and heat radiated from the sonic clap, like lightning striking the roots of the tree. Pain seared through his skull and dampened his flame, turning him at once from an electric blue to a dull yellow. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Hermione! He called out to her, but the butterfly simply flapped her wings and incited another flash. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> What…? There was a figure in the flash, just then, and then it vanished. Holding out hands, arms outstretched, a woman--light and pain flashed in tandem again, and he leapt forward to put himself between the butterfly and the tree. That wasn’t how he remembered the prophecy. The white landscape, as dull as anything and yet vast and fathomless, cradled the broken tree. The buds fell like snowflakes. White, not red. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> From beneath the twisted roots, a great black snake slithered towards him. The creature’s fangs sunk into his arm, and it withered into ash. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Hermione’s wings beat. Once. Twice. Flash! And then cold marble surrounded them, in a new corner of his memory. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> No! Not here-- </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> He gripped the hand so tightly that he received a pinch back. Discreetly, behind the little fleshy meat of his tricep, but it didn’t even register because he was catatonic. She soothed his shoulder with the faintest of strokes from her thumb--not Hermione, but Narcissa-- and he melted from flame to young man under the watchful eye of his mother, before the hearth in the great room. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> No! He huffed. He must surface, this was not what he brought Hermione to see!  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Later. Draco honed in on the sensation of his mother’s grip, centered on it, pulling the butterfly in closer--away from her own figure, which lay prone mere metres from them--until she alighted like a floating, glowing dust mote on Narcissa’s family ring. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> The vision shifted as his memory acquiesced. There. This time, his mother’s ring balanced on the end of his small finger, as he watched her body drift out to sea in a small boat made of willow rushes. The ring looked grand and heavy over the white cloth tape bandaging his fingers. His chest was hollow, flame so low now as to be indistinguishable from the moonlight, which was battling with developing storm clouds. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Draco dropped the ring into his pocket and took a drag from a cigarette. Cloves and cinnamon kissed his tongue. He turned away. Behind him, Hermione hovered patiently. She didn’t belong there. She waited.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Draco apparated to his mother’s balcony where he had discovered her, blank-eyed and cold. The sheets of Narcissa’s bed, hers, not theirs, were stained with blood. Mingled blood. His father was still bleeding out on the mattress. Stricken eyes met his gaze as he entered the room from the balcony, but they were losing their focus as the lucidity gave way to hollowness. The gash across his neck wept. Draco fought back bile. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> We’re getting out, he insisted, but the little insect disobeyed. She pushed . </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> The images flashed, one right after the other. The butterfly led: </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Lucius Malfoy’s last ragged breath. Disapparating before he could think. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Running--blitzing down the hall to the Ministry lifts and praying it went somewhere of use, only to be spat out on the same floor as Transportation, same floor as the one wizard from his youth who didn’t seem to hate him. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Falling at the man’s door, scrambling to open the knob, and being met with the wide eyes of Ron Weasley. The ginger man gripping his arm and side-along disapparating the moment Draco told him what had happened.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Showing him the body. Calling the elves… releasing them to freedom. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Dictating his confession as Ron scribbled madly and asserted ' it was in the interest of your family--for your mother’s sake! ' </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Apparating to the DMLE and reporting his father’s death, with body in tow. The Aurors apparating away and warning him not to go anywhere.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Relinquishing the Manor into his barrister’s stewardship. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Ron taking responsibility for him until he could be tried, so he wouldn’t be held in Azkaban. Ron, gripping his shoulder, and promising ' I will do whatever I can to help you, mate. Name it. I will do it.' Ron making sure he kept his wand, Ron advocating for his bond, Ron taking the Unbreakable Vow with Minister Shacklebolt--' Draco Malfoy is under my care and will be answerable to me, until such a time as he can be tried for the murder of Lucius Malfoy. He will operate within the limits of his role with the Department of Mysteries, until such a time as he is deemed unfit, either by violating his bail or being found guilty, and then he will separate himself from the Ministry.' Ron promising he would vouch for him at sentencing. Ron shaking his hand, and meaning it. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Drinking himself into a stupor in a flat with no furniture but a simple bed.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Wandering the Department of Mysteries on the morning of his first hearing. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Finding himself in the Hall of Prophecy, chasing the persistent call of his name from a woman’s voice which made him choke up to hear it. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Zeroing in on the orb. Receiving the prophecy. Concealing the glass ball in his pocket with an undetectable extension. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Hermione-- Hermione Granger! Screaming her name behind a silencing charm until he was hoarse. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Seeing her in the hallway and freezing, but her paying him no mind as he traveled to Weasley’s office. Confessing the prophecy. Begging Ron to do something. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Ron’s hard look, and then a glimmer of some hope. Ron asking him, begging him… ‘ Do this for me, Malfoy, and everything you’ve ever done will be forgotten. I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll testify. You can have any scotch in my collection. Hermione is everything to me. I can’t be the one, it has to be you. She’ll trust you because I asked her to, and she’ll be safe--’ </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> The memory streaked with a gold cast, freezing his recollection of himself in full peril as Ron described what he needed… his little butterfly companion had grown into a wooly moth. Big, feathered, with dotted eyes on the wings and great big feelers sprouting from her head, all cast in gold. She hovered between Draco and his memory. She stretched out her wings as far as they could go. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> He flared up, but she wouldn’t budge. He flickered as hot as he could, true blue and silver--she only rose higher, until she found the outer reaches of the memory. Then, his mind fell into inky blackness. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>*</p><p>He rolled on top of her, panting. Grinding. Hip bone on hip bone. “Are you mad? <em> Don’t </em> interfere with a memory, no matter how dire it feels!” Hermione winced and hid her face in his forearm. The posture pacified him, and he slid down, so he was resting with his forehead to hers. “Sorry. <em> Hermione, I-- </em> I’m so sorry. You were trying to protect me, and I let it get out of hand. I shouldn’t have yelled. You… being in there, with me. It’s been a long time since I willingly let anyone in, and--” </p><p>Hermione covered his mouth with her hand. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. <em> “Gods,” </em> she said softly. </p><p>All at once, Draco felt like the biggest fool. </p><p><em> “Draco.” </em> </p><p>His mouth pursed behind her palm, which retreated to his cheek. The man sat back on his heels, slowly, pushing away so he could look at her without needing to feel every single curve of her body and give in to kissing her, or <em> more. </em> He ran a hand through his hair. She peered at him from his pillow; her ankles crossed between his knees, and her top was askew. She reached for him in worry. Draco shook his head.</p><p>“You crack me open.” He huffed the words out and instantly regretted them because she looked ready to cry. He threw up his hands. Gods, if he never saw her cry again...</p><p>Hermione took his arm in hand, the one which bore his festering dark mark. She scooted backwards so she could sit up, and her eyes focused in on the raised lines. She frowned. Then, she gasped.</p><p>“Oh my gods. I know what’s wrong with your mark.” She leaned over to her bedside table and retrieved her wand. She nudged it against his skin, and he retracted his arm.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing?”</p><p>“It just needs to be drained,” she said quickly. </p><p>“I’m… sorry?”</p><p>Hermione sat on her knees, mirroring his position. “The inflammation is originating from the head of the snake, see?” The tip of her wand gestured at the snake’s flickering tongue, which was indeed the most swollen. The veins under his skin there appeared to be green. “It’s reacting like poison. Draco--oh my gods. I think you’ve done it.” She threw her arms around his neck and cackled in disbelief. He caught her, thoroughly confused.</p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>“You killed your father, you severed the Malfoy family line. The snake! Remember the prophecy: ‘<em> When Slytherin’s heir, wielded like shield and sword, pierces his own heart and ends his line…’ </em> You were always supposed to be Slytherin’s heir back when the Chamber was open. The Manor isn’t yours anymore, from the looks of your memory, so your family legacy is gone. Your patriarch is dead. Your mark is rotting because you betrayed the <em> real </em>heir of Slytherin.”</p><p>He blinked at her. “Even if that’s true… and that is a stretch, all of it… Voldemort is dead. How could I betray him posthumously?”</p><p>“Draco Malfoy, listen to me!” She pressed both hands to his cheeks and she smiled. “You <em> never </em>killed for him. You took the life of his most loyal follower--”</p><p>“My aunt might beg to differ!”</p><p>“Yes, well, she’s gone too, and I know Molly Weasley sleeps very well at night.” Hermione laid her hand over his heart. “Your mark doesn’t belong to you anymore. You went against the vow you took to get it, so the ink is turning to poison. It needs to come out. Will you let me?”</p><p>He stared at her. Gobsmacked, absolutely and completely--there was no getting around it with her. The idea couldn’t be more stupid, but at this point he would probably let her cut off his wrist. He nodded, dumbly. It stung, but she massaged her thumb over his mark, tapping her wand once at the base of the serpent’s tongue, other hand poised with her teacup at his wrist. It looked ridiculous, her sitting there with a fine cup ready to catch whatever venom ran from his mark, but she was steady and sure. Her expression set in determination. </p><p>With a quick slash and flick, she cut him. <em> “Diffindo!” </em></p><p>Draco lurched forward. He gritted his teeth around Hermione’s shoulder. "When... ah! When I saw the original prophecy, all I saw was the tree."</p><p>"I wondered that." Her wrist flexed, siphoning the venom into the cup. With another flip, a golden rope wound itself above his elbow like a tourniquet; the pain drained into his finger tips. "I saw your mother."</p><p>He huffed. <em>"That's</em> who I saw when the lightning struck the tree."</p><p>"Yes." Hermione drew her wand downward sharply, which brought Draco's attention to the cut. Black, putrid liquid drained into the teacup. At the first sign of his own blood vacating his arm, she released the rope at his elbow. <em>“Episkey!”</em>  Draco slumped as the pain fled his body. She set the cup on the side table, and her arms wound around his shoulders, cradling his head. She urged him forward, and Draco followed without protest. "Draco, I wonder if the prophecy was meant to share the whole message only if we <em>both</em> experienced it at the same time. I'm sorry that we won't have the chance to see the original."</p><p><em>"That</em> was enough." He hid his arms under her, but leaned on his right side, forcing himself to look her in the eye and <em> not </em> at his skin.</p><p>She smiled so sweetly that his heart leapt into his throat. <em> “Look at it,” </em> she said. He shook his head and she laughed. She raised the skin to her mouth, and that was the first he saw it: her lips, pink and perfect, giving the gift of gentle touch to unmarred skin. His forearm was blank.</p><p>Draco choked back almost a decade of sorrow and pulled his arm from her mouth. Instead, he outlined her bottom lip with his index finger. “It can't be that easy. How… how did I <em> get here?” </em> Here, in general, being held and cared for by this sweet blistering witch. He gaped at her in disbelief. Beneath him, sometime between midnight and dawn, Hermione Granger was the most miraculous being he had ever beheld. More radiant than her golden consciousness, she was every good thing which could ever happen to him, and if he spent one more moment of his miserable life pretending it wasn’t true, it was a moment wasted.</p><p>He kissed her.</p><p>Incessant pulls gave way to languorous drags, which went straight to his cock. <em> Ron Weasley is the king of fools, </em> he thought <em> . </em> Hermione hummed into his mouth sweetly as if she perceived the sentiment, but her hands spoke a different language: one of need and teasing at the hem of his jumper. Propped on his elbow and fastened to her face, Draco ripped his jumper forward with one arm, clearing his head so quickly he barely gave her time to breathe. He never heard the fabric hit the ground. Instead, he listened for her little give-away breaths--the ones which skipped when his fingers found the curve of her breast, or blew out when he tickled her navel, or moaned when he discovered where her hip creased with her pelvis. Touching her was priority one, giving her <em> whatever </em> she wanted, which reminded him--</p><p>“Tell me what I can do, I’ll do it.” He nosed her jaw and suckled at the pulse point on her neck. She arched into him. “Anything.”</p><p>Hermione nudged his knee with her own, and he followed, rolling to his back as she threw her leg over him. She beckoned him to sit up, heat of her apex nestled with his own arousal. Her lips were swollen but she shook her head, holding up a finger. He waited for her with both hands settled at her lower back. “If we do this, no regrets,” she murmured. “You can change your mind about me down the road and I will learn to live with it, but <em> this moment </em> is precious.”</p><p>His heart panged at the thought of ever regretting what this witch was willing to share. “I won’t.”</p><p>Hermione removed his left hand from behind her back and slid his fingers around her thigh. She moved his tentative touch to her center, shuddering as his digits memorised the shape of her sensitive nub beneath the fabric. Then, she vanished her pyjama bottoms. The slide of flannel gave way to warm, smoothness. <em> Touch her. </em> That’s what she wanted. He would do that. However long she needed it. Her eyelids fluttered, but she was already turned on, as evidenced by the slickness. Draco savoured her, explored her--took stock of which pressure made her roll her hips forward-- <em> gods, as if I’m not half in love with her already. </em> The thought of it struck him between the ribs, and he growled against her lips.</p><p>Draco pushed her backwards, wondering but momentarily why he had ever been gloomy a day in his life if <em> this </em> was who awaited him, when she wandlessly and <em> wordlessly </em> vanished his bottoms, too. He dared her with a pointed, unblinking look to ask for what she wanted. She responded.</p><p>Oh. His head flooded with images of what she wanted, and she was <em> relentless. </em> He was a goner. If that was what she really wanted, it would take more than one hurried night in her mother’s guest room to fulfill it, and he would make sure of it. Every night. Forever. Her small hand wrapped around him, and she positioned his head at her entrance without formality. There would be time for slow romance some other time. He canted his hips and pushed inside her.</p><p>Hermione bit his shoulder--she was still so tight. He rubbed her thighs, trailing his thumbs upwards to smooth between them. She was silk. He retreated slowly, but she rocked forward, chasing their joining. He smiled. Oh, but wasn’t <em> this </em>a boon?</p><p>She rolled her hips, and Draco reciprocated, kissing her again and again to draw out every soft mew of pleasure. She released with one hand tugging on his hair for dear life, and the other turning the points of her nails into his glute. Draco wasn’t long for it either--it had been too long, and she was too perfect, and what did it matter how long he lasted as long as she came, first? <em> Ever the gentleman, </em> she snickered. He nibbled her earlobe until she wiggled away with a laugh.</p><p>He bracketed his arms around her, braced on his forearms, and taking his time leaving affectionate pecks down her chest to ease her back to earth. She slid her hand between them and suddenly, he felt a warming sensation between them. Contraception spell. </p><p>Draco’s heart squeezed in some unbidden way. Her arm revealed itself to him as she stretched, and he saw her little scar carved in, pink as if freshly healed. He frowned and took her arm in hand. </p><p>What was the spell he had learned, in South America? He strolled through the deep storage in his mind until he remembered it--the Chilean incantation, which had rid him of scars from an over-excited piranha. He covered her scar with his hand and closed his eyes, but she stopped him.</p><p>“Draco, no,” she whispered. He gave her a look of confusion. “I made peace with it a long time ago. I don’t need you to take it away.”</p><p>“It hurts me to see it,” he admitted, before his nerves got the best of him. </p><p>Her mouth folded into a line, but her eyes crinkled. “Sweet man. You don’t get to decide,” she said. “I’m not ashamed.”</p><p>Draco stared at her. “You have to let me do <em> some things </em> to make it easier.”</p><p>She shrugged. “We’ve got about... three hours to daylight. Why don’t you hold me?”</p><p>He extricated himself from her slowly, scourgifying them both and insisting she leave her hands resting, above her head on the pillow. Then, he snuggled in on her side of the bed (“I <em> am </em> left-handed…” “Oh my gods, Draco, go to <em> sleep!” </em>) and held her until well after she lost consciousness, awash in the feeling that everything would be much worse and much better from here, in equal measure.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much to you all for your gorgeous, thoughtful reviews. It has brought me so much joy to share this story with you. I know you don't have to leave anything for me at all, and I'm tremendously grateful. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Draco shares his theory about their connection. They bid farewell to Helen, a visit to the Finch-Fletchley household raises more questions.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He was awake when she came to, propped up against the headboard with a teacup in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. Draco must have been up for a little while; the steam from his tea rose, curling around his face with the telltale scent of chamomile. He didn’t regard her as she rolled towards him, but he hummed when she bumped her forehead against his hip. Hermione closed her eyes again. They had only slept a few short hours after the interlude which had shifted everything, at least for Hermione, from dire to something a bit choking. She hadn’t dreamed about it, as such, but just once, she had awoken to his nose pressed to her neck and felt a pang in her chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This bed was the safest place she’d been in a week. The man (who had set down his teacup and was currently working at the tangles in her hair, as well as he could with only one hand available) had made himself vulnerable to her. He shared a few of his worst memories, and tried to keep her from reliving their worst shared memory to date… no, not the worst one. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The turning point.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Even from his perspective inside his memory, she had been able to feel his fear, and a burning desire to explode forward, wand at the ready, and throw his aunt from her--because he had had enough. Selfishly, she had wanted to see it all. Hermione wanted to know what happened after they escaped, how Draco had suffered and who was to blame for it, because maybe she could take it all away, but she knew:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no retribution to be had for Draco Malfoy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What justice was left for him? Every figure of torment in his life had been killed, so why didn’t death feel good enough for them, and why did it make anger well inside Hermione so fiercely that she saw white behind her eyes?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did she feel the need to give him something that wasn’t in her power to control? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t supposed to be her driving force. If he did go to Azkaban, it would be the end of this: laying in bed on a quiet morning, while the man who had shared in her body touched her so gently that she wanted to cry, and wondering how she could ever have thought that Ron was going to give this to her. She still felt pained by his rejection, as evidenced by the way her eyes pricked to think of him, but this was a precious intimacy that could only be afforded to her by one person, a man who made her body stand at attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They burned too hotly. Together they might be dangerous, and not just because the prophecy intimated it. It was making her forget why she was doing all this. Maybe he sensed it, too. Perhaps that was why he was reading her notes with an intensity that she could feel in his erratic touches. He would pause a moment. Paper would rustle. Then, he’d return to a little knot in her hair, worrying it until it gave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nosed his thigh and the muscle flexed. They had no time. It slipped through her fingers. The more time she tried to take to reason with the feeling, the less they had to act on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to say something about it (after all, she had asked him to talk more about it </span>
  <em>
    <span>later</span>
  </em>
  <span>), but she didn’t know what would be the right sentiment. She wasn’t even sure that he particularly liked her; in fact, she knew she drove him barmy most of the time, and vice versa. But once they left for whatever destination came next, there might not be another chance. Hermione reached for the hand in her hair and pulled it to her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Morning,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he murmured. He rubbed her cheek with his thumb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sleep alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laid the stack of papers on his lap, and she ventured a peek at him. His grey eyes flashed. He leaned down as she pushed up--their faces hovered just milimetres apart. But then, he smiled, and closed the space between them. Draco tossed the papers onto the bedside table. He turned her onto her back, but his kiss remained gentle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe you wanted to speak with Hannah Finch-Fletchley, today,” he whispered, brushing flyaway hairs off her cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione smiled. “I feel guilty that I haven’t been to see her yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brow furrowed as he propped himself on his elbow. “Because you’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasting your time</span>
  </em>
  <span> twiddling your thumbs up until now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> been hiding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For your safety.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe my safety needs to come secondary for a little while. There are more lives at stake than mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco sighed and pinched his nose. “So bloody dramatic.” Hermione laughed, which made him frown deeper. She looked away as he glared at her, but she couldn’t squash the smile. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head. “Just thinking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That can be dangerous, knowing you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Har-har, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hilarious.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. She laid her cheek on her knee, and gazed at him until his frown turned to curiosity. How to even ask the question she had burning in her mind? Why me? “Who do you think foretold the</span>
  <em>
    <span>--our </span>
  </em>
  <span>prophecy?” she managed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached out and brushed her forehead. “My mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded once. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know she was prescient?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but… I think there’s a lot about her I’ll never know. Those sorts of things.” He leaned back again and his hand trailed over her shoulder, down her back, resting at her hip. He looked up at the ceiling. “As for why it’s you… that she saw a prophecy of, I mean, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> she would have cast such a binding spell--which only allows you and I to receive it--which set it all in motion? Maybe she knew more. About me, and… and you. Than she let on. It would have put you in even greater danger, had she told anyone. As such, she delivered it to me--us--in the only package she could. I’m not sure I would have believed it from another source. Even if it came from </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione frowned. “I don’t understand…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have a… bond, do we not?” He drummed his fingers on her hip, which made her melt. “It’s not just chemistry, I think we’re both cognizant of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think it’s, what… a--a--” She stopped abruptly and her eyes grew wide. A what, exactly?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What they had was not just chemistry, or even basic biology.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They must be linked, in a way that made it impossible to deny how they had come together at the most formative points in their lives… why with such ease he ingratiated himself with her body and her magic, no--not ease. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heat, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which originated from something outside of their control, beyond all understanding, and which would otherwise be unfathomable if she hadn’t been inside his memories to see it for herself. It would explain why she needed to reach for him when he was near, and why she had mistaken the intensity of that feeling for hate for so long--and if not hate, then pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plenty of magical folks found partners without any kind of soul bond, but it wasn’t unheard of. There were plenty of people who wound up with someone perfectly suited to them without it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Hermione hadn’t. There was always something lacking. A need that one couldn’t quite put into words. Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had felt lonely, until now. What poor soul could measure up to </span>
  <em>
    <span>this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco was a flame, a light, a home. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>home.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione’s breath caught. It was too much, too overwhelming to be thinking that way, but Draco inclined his head, and she knew he had let himself cheat a look inside her mind for purchase. She felt the presence of his flickering blue fire, and he saw what realization she was coming to. His eyes were glassy. Hermione unfolded herself from her protective position and moved to her knees. Any words she might say would cheapen the </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing</span>
  </em>
  <span> that passed between them. How does one put words to a shared existence, which was irrevocably linked by deep magic? There were words for such a thing, but until Draco they felt like cheap romantic ideals that one might never achieve. A lot of things felt cheap until him. Tears felt cheap, until he blinked them away. Her hand snapped out to catch one before it trailed down his cheek; his hand mimicked hers, and he blurred. Her own eyes were wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was enough to feel like he wanted her, but it was an inexplicable joy to feel like he had finally, through the ages (and despite mistaking it for loathing for a long time), found her. How was it possible to fathom recognition of his soul like she had known it for ages? It would sound forced out loud. Even in her head it sounded a little crazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Hermione laid her hand over his heart. His pulse jumped. “How long have you suspected it?” She regretted it the moment she spoke. She should’ve just thought it, asked him inwardly so he didn’t have to hear how her voice wavered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since last night,” he said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What changed?” she asked, as if she didn’t know. But he merely blinked for a moment, sniffling and wiping his eyes. Then, he sat up straight and pulled her towards him. Hermione acquiesced, straddling his thighs. Draco unbuttoned the top button on her top and kissed her sternum. Then, he pressed his forehead to her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were a moth. A golden thing. I tried to frighten you off, but you...” he shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moved closer.” Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm. I’ve been looking for you for some time, little moth.” He kissed her jaw, and then her temple, and then sat back enough to let her see all of him. “...we probably shouldn’t have… done that. Last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She winced. “You regret it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “I don’t mean that it was a mistake,” he said quickly. “I feel you so much more acutely this morning, you’re like the bloody sun. How can I ever get out of this bed again? How can I have one coherent thought, how can I </span>
  <em>
    <span>protect you</span>
  </em>
  <span> now that losing you would--” he stopped. She smiled, then, because the look on his face was so desperate and sweet, so full of panic and concern, that it was almost comical. His hair stood out in several directions, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you don’t shag </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of your assignments, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the only assignment I’ve ever had, and… I don’t consider what we did a quick </span>
  <em>
    <span>shag, </span>
  </em>
  <span>as you so elegantly put it.” He looked deadly serious until he clocked the teasing smile on her face. He breathed out and carded a hand over his face, as if all of this talk of soul bonds and </span>
  <em>
    <span>shagging</span>
  </em>
  <span> was too much for an Unspeakable. “I’m not sure this is what Weasley had in mind. A week ago you hated me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were scared of me, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why lie? He had seen her reaction to him strangling Covington and storming into her life, which was volatile at best. But she was struck just then how much his behavior had shifted over the last week. “I was, at first. Do you blame me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “I don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco… why did you kiss me when </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanted last night, and not when I asked you to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned then, and his head fell back in shame. “Granger--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to know,” she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed and pinched his nose. “The Weasel just broke your heart. I have all but taken advantage of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I look broken to you? It is amazing what happens to a woman when people stop treating her like she’s breakable.” She snorted. “Half the time you’re not even nice to me, but you don’t pity me. Maybe I’m ready to have someone kiss me because they want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco fixed her with a hard look. “He’s a bloody fool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ron is a very intelligent wizard, who needs to be with someone gentle and steady.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He needs a little housewife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No… someone who won’t dig up six months worth of travel reports and infractions out of spite.” She smirked, glancing at the discarded draft of her report, which now lay sprawled out in a fan on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to know why I didn’t give you what you wanted, when you asked for it?” he asked. Hermione touched his cheek. Draco reached beneath the report and pulled out a phial of black liquid. He shook it for a moment, but nothing happened. He held it up between them with two fingers. She took it from him. “You looked right at my disgusting, festering mark, ran your fingers over it, and decided that you could heal it. Despite the fact that it is a symbol for everything you fought against, and even though it’s on </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I won’t kid myself that you’ve long harbored a secret crush, but I took you at your word that you at least felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> for me, too. Then? You did </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
  <span> No matter what reservations you might have had or what pain it might have caused you to do it, you healed me of one of my most painful mistakes, and you didn’t do it because Ron Weasley broke your heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione touched the glass phial to her lips and handed it back. “And that’s why you kissed me?” she breathed. Draco set it safely to the side and took her hand, lacing their fingers together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were willing to let me into your mind and see a horrid memory you haven’t shared with anyone else, something deeply painful to you. You then felt no shame in bringing me to this house, where the person you care about most in the entire world is kept safe, and trusted me to keep that secret for you.” He shook his head in disbelief. It was obvious that he didn’t believe he deserved such trust. She let her thumb graze his bottom lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why you kissed me, then?” she dared, forcing him to look her in the eyes with an insistent bump to the chin. He narrowed his eyes and pinned her backwards to the soft bedding. She laughed silently, which gave way to a sigh as he laid between her knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stole my jumper. You adopted my library. You asked for my cigarette. Granger, I kissed you because I don’t have anything else to give you. And now that I know how it feels, not just to kiss you but to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>you--” His hand hovered over her breast, fingers itching to show her an example-- “It’s going to be very difficult not to spend every moment doing just that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione pulled his hand to cup her through her top and he closed his eyes in thanks. “Kiss me now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did so, a soft and almost imperceptible peck. “Whatever you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Helen had a packed bag for Hermione, which was sitting outside the door. Draco stripped the sheets from the bed and made certain the room was tidy, while Hermione went to find her mother. The woman was seated outside in a reclined wooden chair with a fire burning in a contained pit, clutching a mug and observing the sunrise, and she smiled when Hermione snuck out the front door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That jumper suits you,” Helen said fondly, gesturing at the cardigan she had given to her daughter. It was white with intricate celtic cables. Hermione sat in an empty chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did that little vial work for Draco?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh… Yes, I believe it works perfectly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. He’s a bit odd, isn’t he?” Helen smiled conspiratorially and it made Hermione wonder how much he would enjoy being called ‘odd.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A bit,” she conceded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like you’ll be off in short order.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to leave.” Hermione followed her mother’s gaze, out over the lush little farm and it’s goat pen, the old well which her mother kept in working order, the carefully stacked woodpile of Draco’s doing… it was such a beautiful place to be, to shelter. But was it comfortable? She was out in the countryside, far away from the bustle of the city in all its comforts. It was isolated, almost. It felt like a fairytale cottage, not the sort of place that one settled in the long-term. “If we’re lucky, we can have you in Wales by Michaelmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I want to leave?” Helen gestured to the smoldering basin which was warming her feet in the crisp morning air. “I dug that myself, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, mum…” Hermione turned towards her mother, but Helen sipped her tea in quiet comfort. “I could visit you more often. And you could have an outdoor firepit there, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hermione, I love this place.” Helen reached out a hand. Tears welled quickly and Hermione took the offered hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought we were more or less on the same page about this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have wonderful neighbors, you know.” Her mother pointed down the road, to the south. “Mrs. Mattes is knitting sweaters for my goats for the winter.” She thumbed over her shoulder. “The Szabo boy is helping me with my Hungarian--he goes with me to the butcher on Saturdays to make sure I get the best cuts of beef, and he calls me ‘néni.’ I do aerobics behind the church after service on Sunday mornings with the womens’ group; we’ve been putting together care packages for the refugees in Budapest. I have a good life, here. And it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Maybe that won’t make sense, to you, but… I don’t want to leave it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione nodded faintly, feeling quite ashamed of herself. It did make sense, though. Didn’t it? But why was she working so hard to get her mother out of a place if she loved it? Maybe because she had never spent enough time there to ask her how she was getting on. Helen was her own woman. She was independent, and she didn’t wait at the window for Hermione to come visit. She was doing exactly what she should be doing, as a woman who had fought to regain her health and start a new life. She was thriving in it. It wouldn’t be right to take her from it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it’s a week early, but I have a birthday present for you.” Helen squeezed Hermione’s hand and reached into her pocket. She produced a velvet box, which was worn at the corners from many years of being handled. This wasn’t a show box, this was something that had been loved. She handed it to her daughter and sat back, smiling placidly. Hermione swallowed hard as she opened the lid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside was a silver ring, which she recognized immediately. Helen had always worn it on her right hand. It was just a silver thing with a tiny round garnet, but it had been worn by every matriarch in Helen’s line for five generations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be the sixth woman to wear it,” Helen said softly. “Nothing much exciting happens for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>twenty-ninth </span>
  </em>
  <span>birthday, so. I thought it might be nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re giving this to me?” Hermione breathed. The silver band glinted like it had recently been polished. She tentatively pulled it from its cradle and slipped it over her ring finger on her right hand. All the Nowak women had tiny hands, and it fit perfectly. She pocketed the box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mum waited until my wedding day, but I know you have bigger plans. I hope it serves you well.” Hermione leaned over and hugged her mother tightly. “I wish we could be together on your birthday."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could stay,” Hermione said weakly. Helen chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You? You’ve never stood still your whole life. You have important things to do.” Helen kissed her temple and pulled away. “I do hope that you’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> be back, eventually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not in any trouble, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione looked down at the heirloom ring and focused on the way the band felt against her skin. She quieted the rising panic. Focus, remember? </span>
  <em>
    <span>The ring was cold, the band was silver, the stone was garnet. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The blank solace of occlusion filled her mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, mum. We’ve just been doing some work with the Hungarian Ambassador. You remember Albert Dolman?” She kept her expression as flat and calm as she could under her mother’s knowing gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovely man. He recast my wards a few days ago; I thought for certain you had sent him to check on me. He brought me a loaf of bread--did you know his husband is a baker?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione’s head snapped to the perimeter of the farm, the short wooden fence that she had helped build when her mother moved in. It had allowed </span>
  <em>
    <span>them </span>
  </em>
  <span>in just fine… and she had even been able to apparate just outside the gate. Hermione pulled out her wand and did the diagnostic spell--sure enough, he had cast a powerful, white ward over the farm. It shimmered and hummed with power. There was no trace of dark magic in it. It was a bubble of safety. Albert was a singular bright spot in a sea of people she wasn’t sure she could trust. But even when Hermione wasn’t around to do it, someone was caring for Helen Granger. That was exactly what she needed to know, in order to leave again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione stood. “I love you, mum.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too, Hermione Jean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you before Christmas. Promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they apparated away, off to Draco’s secure target point and the home of Hannah Finch-Fletchley, Helen had plied them both with several jars of jam, a hearty breakfast, and a hushed side-bar in which she asked Draco to make sure Hermione got enough sleep. He promised. He meant it. He had showered, emerging from the washroom clean-shaven and looking every bit the dark wizard he masqueraded as. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left the little coin on the table with a note, which read: </span>
  <em>
    <span>If you need us, tap three times.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With his arm around her waist and a pack slung over each of their backs, Draco apparated them side-along to London, to an empty flat above a dress shop. Hermione had been to the Finch-Fletchley household several times since working for the Department of International Magical Cooperation; it wasn’t a particularly long trek from the safe point, but the point itself was too close to the Ministry for comfort. Hermione cast a glamour over them both, in case they were spotted on the way. The trip required a cab ride to the unassuming flat, through dense traffic and well away from the magical centre of Wizarding London, across the river. The cab pulled up to the curb, Hermione supplied their fare, and Draco stepped up to the door. He knocked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a few minutes, but footsteps could be heard making their way to the door. The silver knob turned, and it swung open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?” Before she could even comprehend what she was seeing, Hermione realized that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> had been the one to speak. Because standing in the doorway was her very best friend from childhood, aside from Ron, a man that she hadn’t spoken to in so long she had almost forgotten what he really looked like. A famous man, less so for what he had done in his youth, and more for his championship record playing Seeker for the Kenmare Kestrels. Weird jagged scar on his forehead, impossibly unruly black hair, no matter how he styled it. Kind, green eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The glamour. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hermione quickly dropped it with a flick, and Harry’s face twisted from shock to happiness to confusion as he glanced between one of his oldest friends and a man he could never have expected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had better come in.” He stepped to the side, allowing Hermione and Draco to enter. Draco said nothing and kept his distance from Hermione. Hermione, on the other hand, dropped her bag on the ground and twisted her hands. Harry waited for her to do anything, looking sheepish himself. Then, she held out her arms to him. Harry stepped into her grasp. He smelled exactly like she remembered--like warmth and dirt and cedar. In a grounded way. He patted her back. “It’s been ages,” he murmured into her jumper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I’m sorry. It’s been hectic on my end. I have a letter for you, I just haven't gotten to the owlery yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t lost Achilles, have you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no! I just have been away. He’s fine.” Hermione squeezed his shoulder. “And you? How have you been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco cleared his throat, then, and the two old friends released one another. “You alright, mate?” Harry asked, nodding to Draco. The other man held out his hand. It took him a moment, but bless him, Harry grasped it firmly. “I’m swamped with the semi-final against Puddlemere coming up; training has been murder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>here?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione tried to reach out to Draco but she couldn’t find his flame in her mind, and he hadn’t yet taught her how to use their mental connection un-guided. She could barely occlude. She would have to be satisfied not knowing what he was thinking; she didn’t much care for that at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ron asked me over. We’ve been catching up a bit.” Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. “He didn’t mention you, though… I had wondered--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right! Yes. No--we work together. Sometimes, so.” Hermione shrugged, and she could feel Draco’s eyes on the back of her head. Why was this so bloody awkward? It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry,</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Godric’s sake! “But, um. Draco and I are here to visit with Hannah. If she’s in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry glanced over his shoulder and then frowned. “Um. She is.” He scratched his head. “Did you know about them?” Harry thumbed over his shoulder and spoke quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About… whom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hannah, I mean. The others. I mean, you’re here, so I’m assuming you’re already aware of this whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>situation. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ron asked for my help, so...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione’s blood was thrumming in her ears. “What others?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry beckoned for them to follow and they did so, padding through the flat to the back stairwell and then down the stairs, into a small but well-lit basement room. There were comfortable, well-loved couches lining the walls, and each one bore a few adult women, several of which bounced children on their knees. Hannah Finch-Fletchley, blonde and sweet-faced with a pixie-length haircut, sat on the flowered sofa, beside a woman who Hermione recognized immediately. There was no mistaking her face, or her shock of pin-straight platinum hair, which even rivaled the Malfoy in the room for shine. She had seen the modelesque face in numerous reports, and most recently read her name in the obituary of her main aggressor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imelda Potempkin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other side of Imelda, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ron</span>
  </em>
  <span> soothed a young girl, no more than a few years old, with a mess of red hair. She clung with tiny fingers to the strings of his hooded jumper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione’s whole head swam with thoughts--confusion, most of all. Ron looked up as she and Draco appeared behind Harry, and she realized that for the first time in ages, he didn’t look ready to run or hide. He looked happy. He smiled at the little child, and then gave her an apologetic look, which clearly had more explanation behind it. One Hermione was eager to hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stood behind her silently observing the room of chattering children and mothers. Hermione desperately wanted to turn to him and say something along the lines of </span>
  <em>
    <span>can you believe this?</span>
  </em>
  <span> But she restrained herself, settling instead for glancing at him and nodding to an empty overstuffed chair. He pointed to it and nodded. Hermione took that as a sign and sat, with Draco and Harry flanking her. Harry sat on the arm of the chair beside her, arm braced over the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannah’s face lit up as soon as she realized who was visiting. “Hermione, my gods it’s nice to have you. Oh! Good, you’re awake!” She pointed to the stairwell. “She was hoping we’d see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione looked over her shoulder and blanched. Coming down the stairs, looking more alive than ever, wrapped in an oversized Kestrels jumper, was Hermione’s assistant. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Natalie.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! I very much doubt that this story will be completed in 20 chapters so I may be raising that projected number, soon. Let me know your theories! There are many more answers to come. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Natalie's secret is revealed. Hermione finds a way into Draco's mind. The report is completed.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione pressed her forehead to the porcelain and let out a ragged breath. He sat beside her silently, but his fingers traced the winding cables on her sleeve until he found her hand. Draco tested her skin. She was clammy.</p><p>“It’s not possible,” she breathed. Her stomach was fixed on the memory of Natalie’s blood on her hands, and then Justin’s mangled body, and it burbled with the threat of upheaval once again. “You saw her, too. You said she wouldn’t make it. I heard her--”</p><p>“Mhm.” He pulled her hair back, it was trying to creep around her neck. He plaited her long locks, securing the braid with a thin silver rope from the end of his wand. </p><p>They had been holed up in Hannah’s upstairs washroom for what felt like an hour; one look at Natalie and Hermione had been completely overwhelmed with emotions, mostly painful. Her joy to see the woman turned to panic, and she had fled up the stairs with Draco hot on her tail. Ron had followed, but Draco employed him with fetching a cool glass of water instead. Hermione had locked herself in the washroom to evacuate the contents of her stomach. It took encouraging words from both men to get her to unlock it again, and when she did, she dissolved into tears. Ron had returned to the gathering, to let them know Hermione was going to need a moment. Draco stayed.</p><p>As her stomach settled, Hermione felt dread set in, instead. “There is no way she made it out of his office alive.”</p><p>“I’m inclined to agree,” Draco said. He offered her a black handkerchief, and she used it to wipe her mouth. Only then did she turn to him, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. He took up most of the room with his hulking form, but his posture was lazy and relaxed. Even though he couldn’t extend his legs, he still leaned back against the bathtub like it was an easy chair. “Better?”</p><p>“I don’t understand how she’s here.”</p><p>“We cannot know what happened if we don’t talk to her.” He fixed her with a knowing expression. “How’s your stomach?”</p><p>“Calm, but still.” Hermione sat back against the tub. </p><p>“Perhaps Hannah has some crackers. I’ll see.” Draco folded himself forward to get a grip on the door handle, and pushed off the tub to stand. Once he had, he held out his hands to her. He was back-lit by the light and his hair glowed. Hermione took his hands. He lifted her to her feet, and pocketed the handkerchief. </p><p>Hermione squeezed his hand. “You take care of me.”</p><p>His face softened, and he released her hands so he could cup her cheeks. Then, he bent down and kissed her forehead. “It’s my job.” </p><p>“I don’t want to go out there. I can’t believe I ran. It all came flooding back. I’ve been trying not to think about it, about Justin even. But one look at her...” She shut her eyes, and willed the horrid memory to leave her mind once more. </p><p>He brushed stray hairs off her forehead. “We can’t stay in this washroom forever.”</p><p>Despite herself, Hermione laughed. “I know. We need to talk to Hannah, and Imelda. That’s why we’re here. We can deal with Natalie after.”</p><p>“If that’s what you want.”</p><p>“Do you think that sounds like a good plan?”</p><p>He sighed. “I’m following your lead. You know what needs to be done. Be confident in that.”</p><p>She looked away. He was right. She often relied on him to validate things she already knew. “I will. I am.”</p><p>“Good.” He bent to kiss her but Hermione held up a hand. She turned her head away from him and finished off the glass of water Ron had left for her by the sink. Then, she cast a little freshening spell, one she had learned when she was on the run with Ron and Harry all those years ago. When she turned back to Draco, he was watching her with an amused smirk.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing. I find it amusing that your prime concern when your assistant reappears after being presumed dead is whether or not you have fresh breath.”</p><p>She smacked his chest. “I mean, if you <em> want </em> to kiss me straight after I--”</p><p>He silenced her with a kiss, sweet and lingering. Then, he straightened. “Come on.” He opened the door to the washroom. On the other side, with a hand raised to knock, was Natalie. The woman blushed and stepped back.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--I hope you’re well, Hermione.” Natalie wrung her hands.</p><p>“Yes, I… I’m fine.” </p><p>“Good. Good.” She peeked over her shoulder. There was no one behind her, so she held out a hand. “I’m so relieved to see you. All I’ve thought about is you since I woke up in St. Mungo’s. How you found things… if you had survived. The last thing I remember is you telling me I’d be alright.” Natalie sniffed back some unbidden emotion. “Please… can we talk for a few minutes?” She glanced at the foreboding man behind Hermione. “In private?”</p><p>Hermione stared at her outstretched hand. A gentle push at her back urged her forward. “It’s okay,” he murmured. The familiar flicker of his blue flame in her mind sprung to life. <em> I’ll be here. </em></p><p>She raised her hand and clasped her fingers around Natalie’s palm. <em> Whoosh! </em>Hermione was pulled via side-along with a sharp tug behind her navel. They reappeared in a bedroom--it had to be somewhere in the upper floors of the Finch-Fletchley house--and Hermione wrenched herself out of Natalie’s grasp… Natalie stood between Hermione and the door, and flicked her wand. The air in the room deadened as the silencing spell was cast. Hermione’s stomach threatened again and her heart pounded in her chest.</p><p><em> Where are you? </em> he demanded frantically.</p><p>
  <em> Upstairs, I think. Door’s locked and the room is silenced. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m coming. </em>
</p><p>Hermione scrambled back as Natalie took a step forward. “I’m not going to hurt you, I need your help!” The young woman pulled up her sleeve. Hermione gasped. Her skin bore a Dark Mark. This time, the tissue which surrounded the poisoned ink was almost dead. It was gangrenous at best, and the winding green veins which extended from the blackening skin were reaching for the wrist. </p><p>“It’s spreading. I can’t make it stop.” Natalie winced as she touched the tip of her wand to the raised skull. </p><p>The words tumbled out of Hermione’s mouth before she could prevent them. “Who did you kill?”</p><p>“Alecto Carrow. She had figured it out--what I was doing. Who I was protecting.” Natalie huffed out a pained breath.</p><p>“You… you were protecting me?” Hermione stared at this woman she thought she had known so well.</p><p>“You didn’t know. Good.” Overwhelmed by pain, the woman slumped against the door. “I don’t know how long it will last. I need to leave before it stops working.”</p><p>“How long <em> what </em> will last?” </p><p>The woman shook her head in resignation. “I only had so much of the potion to begin with, enough for six months if I <em> stretched </em>it.” She shrugged. Her head fell back against the door. “I’ve run out.”</p><p>Polyjuice. It could only be the infernal potion which had already threatened Hermione’s safety. She had said so herself--<em> it can’t be her. </em> Where was Natalie, then? She had been her assistant for years, it wasn’t possible that she spent the entirety of her tenure using a glamour or a potion. A darker pain settled in Hermione’s chest. <em> What had happened to the real Natalie? </em>If this was an imposter… was she dead? And for how long had Hermione been robbed of grieving her? But then… </p><p>“Who are you?” Hermione breathed.</p><p>The woman smiled sadly. “You are going to hate me.”</p><p>“Try me.”</p><p>“Help me and I’ll tell you.”</p><p>Hermione shook her head. “Tell me, and I’ll consider it.” </p><p>The magic pulsed in the room in an insistent thrum--like someone was knocking. Someone powerful. Draco.</p><p>
  <em> I’m coming in. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No. I need her to talk. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She could kill you! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We can’t know what happened until we ask her, remember? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I don’t like this. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Let me do this. </em>
</p><p>Hermione trained her wand on the collapsed woman. “Where is Natalie Coleman?”</p><p>“France.”</p><p>“Does she know who she is?” The woman shook her head. “When was the last time you took polyjuice?”</p><p>“Three days ago. It’s fading. S’why you can see my mark.” She straightened as best as she could and pulled the jumper over her head. She flung it to the side. She still wore the two-piece outfit she had on the day she was attacked, but now her clothing appeared to be too large for her frame. “Please--I’ve tried everything. I can’t make it stop. It’s going to kill me, I know it will--”</p><p>
  <em> Get her away from the door, Hermione. </em>
</p><p>“--Please. Hermione. You are the only person I know who can figure out why it’s happening, <em> please.” </em></p><p>“Draco can help--”</p><p>The woman shook her head. “No. He can’t see me like this.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>A tear streaked down the woman’s face. “He won’t understand.”</p><p>“That hasn’t been my experience,” Hermione said with a sigh. She knelt down in front of the woman, who now seemed as threatening as a feather. “I will try to help you. It will hurt. I don’t know if I can save your arm--”</p><p>“I don’t care. Do it.”</p><p>Hermione took hold of the woman’s hand; the once soft and round fingers felt long and boney in her own. The polyjuice certainly was fading, and in mere moments she would know who the woman was before her, the one who she had confided in, cried with, given gifts to, shared her theories… and it was all a lie. And as far as Hermione knew, she was a threat. But the ink had to come out, or there would be no answers given.</p><p>She pressed the tip of her wand to the snake’s head, as she had done with Draco’s mark. Then she searched for something to drain the ink into--ah! A vase with wilting daisies sat on the bedside table. She summoned the ceramic thing and removed the flowers. Then, she held the woman’s forearm over the mouth of the vase. Hermione looked her in the eye. The woman nodded. </p><p><em> “Diffindo!” </em> Just as Draco’s had, the ink leaked from her arm. The woman whimpered. It didn’t take much. Her blood replaced the ink before long. Hermione flicked her wand and wound a rope around the woman’s forearm to slow it. </p><p><em> “Episkey!” </em> The cut closed up. Still, the woman moaned in pain. She clutched her arm to her chest and pushed until she could stand. Hermione jumped out of the way--the woman stumbled forward and collided with the bed. The moment she had cleared the door, Draco broke through the lock and burst into the room. His gaze seemed to skip right over Hermione’s head to the woman on the bed. A woman who, when Hermione turned around, had become herself once more. There was no mistaking her upturned nose, the sleek black hair cropped at her chin. Nor was there any mistaking the way Draco strode to the side of the bed, sat, and pulled the woman into his arms. He spoke softly to her, and she turned her face into his chest.</p><p>Pansy Parkinson was alive, but writhing.</p><p>“Shh. It’s alright,” Draco murmured, wand hovering over her arm. He appeared to perform a kind of diagnostic spell. His face fell, and he shook his head at Hermione. “Would you fetch Hannah?” </p><p>Hermione blanched. “You can’t save it, then.”</p><p>“No. I’d rather a skilled medi-witch perform the removal. I don't have the finesse. It must be done, now, or she’s dead. Hermione! <em> Go!” </em></p><p>Her feet carried her but Hermione was barely aware of them touching the ground at all. She raced down the steps. Lucky for her, Hannah was in the kitchen prepping tea. </p><p>“Hannah--you’re needed upstairs. It’s urgent.” Hermione only then realized that Ron stood at the stove, stoking the kettle. Hannah fled the kitchen without question, but Ron went to Hermione’s side.</p><p>“What’s happened?” he asked. </p><p>Hermione shook her head. “Just… come on.” She took his hand and pulled him along.</p><p>In the doorway of the upper bedroom, Hermione could only watch as Draco held a petrified Pansy. Hannah performed diagnostics of her own, but she seemed to agree with Draco’s diagnosis. She asked Hermione to close the door. Once the door was shut and silenced, Hannah set to work. Hermione couldn’t hear a thing--all that went through her head was a steady throbbing energy. She stared. Ron tried to say something to her, but it went unheard. Hannah readied Pansy’s arm, tying off the limb above the elbow, and nodded to Draco. His head snapped, and he spoke--but his lips moved without words. No sound. Thrumming. </p><p>
  <em> Turn around! </em>
</p><p>She jumped as his voice roared in her head, and only then did she turn her back to the scene. Her head found Ron’s chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. Then, all the sounds flooded in.</p><p>Pansy screamed. Ron huffed. A pang zinged between Draco and Hermione, and she felt a flicker of an apology, and a brief image of a kiss. </p><p>Hermione covered her ears with both hands. It was too much. She felt herself being lifted--how had she gotten on the ground? The door frame passed overhead, and then a stretch of hallway, before another doorway opened… and then she touched down on a soft mattress. She curled into herself and reached out to find Draco’s blue flame, anything from him. She concentrated everything she had on searching through the inky blackness, letting the golden light guide her way.</p><p>Finally, she saw a shoreline. Black sands, and black swirling water. She flitted across the water, searching, <em> searching… </em> when she found him, his fire was dull and low, orange and cool. She sat beside the little flame, and curled herself around him. </p><p>***</p><p>When she awoke, it was because large hands were covering her with a soft blanket. The hands belonged to the fire she guarded. He knelt beside the bed at eye height. He was worried. Hermione’s fingers crept out from under the blanket to find his, and he linked them together. </p><p>“She’s stable,” he murmured. </p><p>“Is she?”</p><p>He nodded. “She’s lucky. It wasn’t her wand arm anyway.” Hermione couldn’t help but smile slightly, and his eyes crinkled. Then, the softness in his face faded. “You have to understand, Hermione…” He stopped and shook his head. “I never thought I’d see her again.”</p><p>Her heart dropped sharply. “You loved her.”</p><p>“Not as such. We clung to each other like lifeboats for a long time.”</p><p>“But you cared--”</p><p>“It’s been half a decade! I’m not sure I even understood what that meant.” He kissed their joined fingers and his lips remained there. “It wasn’t like this.”</p><p>“Still,” she urged. “It must be shocking to see her again.”</p><p>“It is. She went missing on assignment. I tried to find her, but it was like she disappeared into thin air. I accepted she was dead. As it turns out… she’s been working her way through the old channels.”</p><p>Hermione gasped. “She’s an Unspeakable?” </p><p>“Yes. We were inducted the same year.”</p><p>“She killed Alecto Carrow.”</p><p>“Three months ago. She confirmed it to me just now. But… that’s why it got <em> this </em>bad. It goes against your theory about why mine turned… I think the ink reacts this way if you kill the person who gave you your mark.” He was concerned, and rightly so. If that wasn’t the answer to his part of the prophecy, there was more to worry about.</p><p>“Perhaps you’re right.” Hermione propped herself up on her elbow. “How does she account for surviving Justin’s attack?”</p><p>“The men I sent… they found her. Stabilized her. She got to St. Mungo’s on her own.”</p><p>Hermione glanced at their joined hands. “She’s been masquerading as Natalie for six months. She knows… everything about me, Draco. I’ve <em> snotted </em>on that woman, crying over this or that.”</p><p>“You’ve snotted on me too, she’s not special.” He gave her a gentle smile. “She could be quite useful to us.”</p><p>“How is Hannah taking it?”</p><p>He sighed. “Much better than I. She’s gone downstairs with Ron to… prepare the company for a new face. Once Pansy has recovered, of course.”</p><p>“What does Pansy want?”</p><p>“To protect these women, once she’s healed. She assumed you were dead, ending her assignment. But you gave her something else to fight for. She wants to stay with Hannah, and Imelda, and the rest… be their protection.” Draco cupped her face. “I’m not the only former Death Eater with a score to settle.”</p><p>“Her assignment? Hang on… who assigned her?”</p><p>Draco took a deep breath. “Justin Finch-Fletchley.”</p><p>Hermione sat up like a bolt. “They have been trying to protect me <em> together.” </em> </p><p>“Looks that way.” He held open his arms and invited her into his embrace. She readily accepted the comfort. She always felt so small in his arms. He kissed her temple. “Hannah and Imelda are ready to talk, if you’re willing. For your report.”</p><p>She breathed against his cheek and felt her throat clench. <em> “Gods. </em> When all this began, I thought I was alone.”</p><p>Draco said nothing. Instead, he reached for her inside her mind. This time, she met him on the shore.</p><p>
  <em> You found me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I had a good teacher. </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>Well into the wee hours of the morning, three muggle-born witches communed around the recovery bed of a former Death Eater, a woman who had recently been liberated of her left arm. They shared their stories, compared notes… set suspicions straight. Then, together, they completed a lengthy report which would be called <em> The Matryoshka Brief-- </em>so named by Imelda, after Russian nesting dolls. Each woman gave her testimony to a spelled quill, monitored by the lone wizard in the room. The healer, the refugee, the spy, and the instigator… all pieced together what was known, and who was to blame. Then, the brief was rolled up, and addressed to the one person who could spread the information as quickly as possible.</p><p>The next day--a Thursday--every magical person woke up to a copy of the Daily Prophet, a special edition with only one story to report from an anonymous source. The Prophet, in all fifty years of its existence (as the one, truly reliable source for reasonably truthful news and gossip inside the Wizarding world), had only once before foregone its unending stream of speculative articles and photographs. Just once. This was noteworthy.</p><p>The words, written in the smallest font the press could handle, detailed how five ministry officials, several of whom upper level members of the Wizengamot, had been smuggling Muggle-born witches and their children out of Russia… never to be seen again, at the behest of a secret society of former Death Eaters. The persons were named, and evidence cited.</p><p>Gerald Covington (deceased).</p><p>John MacAfee.</p><p>Romilda Vane.</p><p>Millicent Bulstrode.</p><p>Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt.</p><p>(Bulstrode and Vane had come as a shock to Hermione, given how she had relied on them, but Pansy detailed all the times she had seen either witch pass on vital information to a Carrow, or bury something which could have been of use.)</p><p>The Matryoshka Brief went on to detail how these officials had misused their power, going so far as to name each infraction in excruciating detail. The list of offenses was long; the report accused each person of serious charges in violation of the Dawes Convention, a treaty made by the seven wizarding ruling bodies which made up the United Confederation of Magic, in order to protect their citizens. Kidnapping, extortion, concealing evidence, endangering minors… sexual violence. Murder. The author (unnamed) invited members of the public to come forward with any information they might have, directly to Rita Skeeter. </p><p>At the conclusion of the article, the author (or authors, as it were) made one last demand:</p><p>
  <em> For the sake of the muggle-borns the world over, for their children, we insist on the resignation of each party named herein, and that an immediate interim Chief Warlock be appointed to begin an inquest into the missing women and children. In light of these crimes, the Wizengamot should defer its rulings to the will of the people. We demand that no new Minister be elected until the completion of the inquest. How deep does this corruption go? </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whew. I apologize for the two week delay on an update. Truly, I rewrote this chapter from scratch *four times*. We've finally reached the point where the tide will turn, and we'll experience the fallout from the release of the report, which is now known as The Matryoshka Brief. 'Matryoshka' is the Russian word for nesting dolls, as mentioned in the chapter. Each doll opens to reveal a smaller doll inside. </p><p>Now, Hermione and Draco have allies. They're not alone, and whatever comes next comes with a host of able magical supporters.</p><p>I hope you're still with me--thank you so much for reading, and please tell me if you liked this fourth attempt at an update. ;) Big thanks to @pink_wednesdays for her words of support.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14: Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The wizarding world's reaction to the release of the Matryoshka Brief is intense and heady, but Hermione is not one to be scared out of action. Unfortunately, there's a new facet to her bond with Draco. And it isn't good.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Part 2 </em>
</p><p>The fallout from the Matryoshka Brief was unfathomable. For the next three days, the Daily Prophet printed hogwash--supposed testimonies from citizens who had seen or heard this or that, claims of possible locations to hide the refugees which had been kidnapped, accusations that the Ministry was also responsible for malcontent across the Atlantic, even an interview with a woman who claimed to be Kingsley Shacklebolt's lover. But that was they had asked for: for people to come to Rita Skeeter with information. </p><p>The second day, disgraced Minister Shacklebolt went missing. The Prophet seemed confused whether to report it with a sense of urgency that he be found, or relief that he had unseated himself. It became clear, at least to those with intimate knowledge of the goings-on, that his disappearance was not voluntary--even if his resignation had been. Like Covington before him, Shacklebolt was not long for the world.</p><p>Still, despite a dedicated effort to find the ex-Minister, the Ministry followed the request made at the end of the Brief, and the election for new leadership was put on hold. Assistant Minister Weasley--Percy, that is--made a public statement in support of the investigation, though his tone belied anxiety he felt in suddenly being the de facto leader and highest ranking member of the Ministry of Magic. His support was a welcome respite from a host of bad tidings. Ron hadn't spoken to him in a dog's age, it wasn't as if brother love spurred the third eldest Weasley to do right. He was simply taking it seriously. Small favors.</p><p>On the third day post-Brief, Harry Potter gave an exclusive interview with Rita Skeeter. He was, for the time being, stepping down from his position with the Kenmare Kestrels in order to serve on the committee which had been formed to investigate the allegations brought to light. The remaining members of the Wizengamot had appointed Hogwarts Headmistress Minerva McGonagall as interim Chief Warlock, and she had been free to appoint her own investigatory body, which was set to convene as soon as the remaining members had accepted their appointment. In the meantime, Harry remained with everyone at home-base, the Finch-Fletchley house, which they had begun to refer to as The Nest. He turned out to be very handy rocking babies to sleep.</p><p>It wasn't smart for any member of the Nest to leave for any extended period; with Shacklebolt's disappearance, and Pansy's ongoing recovery, it seemed best to lie low until the investigations formally began. Makeshift beds were made for the new members of the group, and the longer they cohabited, the clearer it became that publishing the Brief had been the right decision. They waited. For what, it wasn't clear... for the investigations to begin, perhaps, or for some kind of sign. They hadn't discussed what would happen once the Brief was published. After all, there was still the matter of the prophecy to resolve, and women and children to find. In light of both, Hermione was not amenable to sitting still or waiting for anything.</p><p>Which is why, on the fourth day post-Brief, a glamoured Hermione Granger ventured into Diagon Alley, flanked by her stoic protector, and a striking one-armed witch, for whom cobblestones were meaningless under her heeled boots. Posters littered the streets of Diagon Alley. 'HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WIZARD?' Kingsley Shacklebolt's face stared out from the paper with a pleading expression. Aurors roamed the streets and skies like a swarm, but the few witches and wizards who dared to shop during a national panic shied away from them.</p><p>
  <em> Do we trust them? Are they corrupt, too? </em>
</p><p>The triad, easily mistaken for another group of aurors, made for the foreboding marble bank, which loomed over the entire street. Gringotts was the only government establishment which remained open, though the wards would not allow either Unspeakable to enter without cancelling the taboo they were afforded by virtue of their rank, and rendering them both vulnerable. Which is why Hermione entered the bank alone, with a lock-box key given to her by Hannah Finch-Fletchley burning a hole in her coat. Her companions stepped into the pub across the street, so as not to draw attention to themselves.</p><p>The pair sat at the window, spoke lowly... to an observer they seemed to be deliberating over whether to order fish and chips. But the man, so tall as to be laughable, pulled up his sleeve and bared his wrist to the woman. There was a bandage there. He scowled and pulled his sleeve down. He confided a growing secret. The woman shook her head.</p><p>"When did it happen?" she murmured.</p><p>"This morning," he sighed. "She was helping Hannah with breakfast, and burned herself on the oven rack."</p><p>
  <em> "Fuck." </em>
</p><p>"I know."</p><p>The bartender, a young man with a ponytail and far too many teeth to be baring them all the time to every guest who entered, lest they suspect him of being a lycanthrope, plunked down a tray between the two. A martini for her, a tea for him. The hulking man dropped a few galleons into the bartender's hand and lit up a black cigarette when the boy had gone. The witch cast a bubble of silence around them.</p><p>It was a relief to have Pansy back again. It felt like no time at all had passed. Except that it had--and the things that had transpired separated them from the intimacy of friendship by an ocean of grief. She knew him better than almost anyone and yet... talking to her felt a bit hollow. Still, having someone to confide in, who knew from what origins he came, it was something akin to comfort. Especially now that she had recovered from the loss of her arm. No woman could appear so self-assured as Pansy Parkinson. Her choice of conversation topics were equally pressing. She had insisted on coming along, even though a simple trip to the bank was on the docket.</p><p>She raised an eyebrow. "You haven't told her."</p><p>Draco didn't reply; the smoke escaping from between his lips was confirmation enough for Pansy. She took a deep gulp of her martini in annoyance. His gaze scoured the pavement in front of the bank. At first sight of Hermione, they would abandon their beverages and regroup back at Hannah's. What was taking her so bloody long?</p><p>"We should've gone in with her," he growled.</p><p>"Has it happened before?"</p><p>He shook his head. "I've felt her pain, but never..." Draco trailed off and rubbed the bandage beneath his cuff. The burn itched. Pansy didn't know about the prophecy, nor did she know about the bond which linked him and the witch whose burn mark he bore. He hesitated to expound on it; yes, he was grateful she was alive--no man could be more so, but she also wouldn't understand. It was too short a time to feel the way he did about Hermione Granger. Like he needed her every second.</p><p>"What did it feel like?"</p><p>He frowned, but she tapped his wrist. "It just... She told me after, said it wasn't that bad. It felt like a brand."</p><p>Pansy sipped her drink and considered him over the silvery-green liquid. "You have to tell her, Draco."</p><p>"It's nothing."</p><p>"I beg to differ," Pansy scoffed. "She got hurt, but you'll suffer for it. That's not nothing, that's a problem."</p><p>He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It will only upset her."</p><p>"What do you think she's going to do to you when she finds out?" Pansy leaned against the bar and studied him. "My bet's on murder. Say--can I watch?"</p><p>"How long does it bloody take to open a deposit box?"</p><p>"Deflecting."</p><p>Draco's head swiveled to stare daggers at his companion. "She'll worry."</p><p>"She'd worry less if you told her now, before anything too bad has happened!"</p><p>He shook his head and looked away again. "It's only a matter of time before she figures it out. She knows her way into my head now."</p><p>"She's a Legilimens?"</p><p>"Meant to make her an Occlumens, but... as always, she had her own plans."</p><p>"Draco..." Pansy rested her hand on his arm. "Tell her. Or I will. She's my assignment, too. Just because you're fucking her--"</p><p>Draco held his finger in her face. "I'm not--Merlin, Pansy! That's not--"</p><p>"It's obvious. To me, to Weasley, even to Potter, who's obtuse. When did assignments become personal, huh?"</p><p>Oh, Merlin. He hadn't been occluding around Hermione, since she asked him not to, but he should've known better than to remain unmasked around the rest of them. But it was personal, wasn't it? He scoffed. "You like her, too!"</p><p>"I love her. She's bloody marvelous. I grieve the closeness she shared with me when she thought I was her mousy assistant, but I'm not letting it get in the way of my duty to protect her!"</p><p>Draco carded a hand through his hair and cursed. "Fuck, Pans--I know! Alright?"</p><p>"What you two do when you're in private is your business, but do not lose sight of your job!"</p><p>"I'm trying--"</p><p>"No, you're not. You're going soft."</p><p>"Maybe I've changed."</p><p>"Good. I'm glad. You were a nasty, miserable bastard. But you can't be soft and be an Unspeakable, for Salazar's sake. Or her bodyguard."</p><p>"Pansy--" </p><p>She held up her hand to silence him, and horror filled her face. "Something is wrong."</p><p>Slowly, she raised a finger to his cheek. Then, she showed him her hand. Draco blanched. Pansy's hand was tinged red with a smear of his blood. He bolted for the door with Pansy hot on his heels, but skidded to halt outside the massive mahogany door. </p><p>"I'll go." Pansy reached for the door, but Draco caught the empty sleeve, which hung at her side.</p><p>"You'll blow your cover--you keep an eye on the door from out here. Just... watch for anyone suspicious." He slipped inside the bank and felt twenty or more sets of eyes turn and clock him, as the cold comfort of his Unspeakable taboo was dampened by the shield-cancelling wards. It had been a long time since he stood out in a crowd as Draco Malfoy. He was inside Gringotts, amongst laypeople and bankers, and there was no taboo to divert attention. It had been a while since he threw his family name around to get what he wanted. He was out of practice. He didn't much like being seen.</p><p>"Mister Malfoy, your wand?" A meek banker at a podium beside the entrance held his hand out. Draco begrudgingly handed over his wand to the man, who put it inside a small cupboard behind the counter. Right. No wands, no casting in here. Where the hell was Hermione?</p><p>"Can you point me to the deposit boxes?" Draco asked lowly. The banker gestured behind him.</p><p>Draco straightened his shoulders and strode for the staircase, above which hung a sign indicating that publicly accessible boxes were located on the floor below. He descended the stairs two at a time, passing by several startled witches and an ancient wizard who was too hunched over to take notice of him. On the next floor, he paused--the hallway diverted in three prongs. He chose the right aisle; Justin's key had indicated box 215, and that hallway claimed to contain units 200-250. When he rounded the corner, the hallway was deserted.</p><p>He attempted to reach out for her in his mind, but the wards made it impossible. Then, he heard a faint <em> bang! </em> Draco took off in a sprint; his soft-soled boots made no sound on the marble floor, which was to his advantage as a door at the end of the hall burst open. A wizard backed out of the room with his hands up in surrender. He was smiling. A flash of silver streaked across Draco's path and struck the man square in the chest, lodging a thin knife between his ribs. The man fell like a rock. Draco swept up behind the door as the silhouette of a woman appeared through the foggy glass panel. But then he saw the hand outstretched--her hand, which bore a small ruby ring. He snatched her wrist and pulled her around the door, crushing her to his chest in relief.</p><p>"He's dead," she breathed into his coat. </p><p>"Yes." Draco smoothed her hair. She was still and shocked, clinging to him like anything. He eyed the body over her shoulder. A memory flashed--Justin's office, the man in black robes with a mask, the one Natalie--Pansy--had succumbed to... it was him. The man he had killed, or so he thought... well, now he really was dead. Worse, Draco recognized the man. The beard was clever, but it could never fully mask the round face inherent to every male of the Goyle bloodline. </p><p>From the direction of the stairs, there could be a faint chattering heard. Draco wandlessly and silently cast levicorpus. The body lifted off the ground. Draco pulled Hermione back into the small side room, which was in all sorts of disarray. He directed the body to the far wall and closed the door behind them. Only then did he pull her away from his chest. Sure enough, Hermione had a shallow cut on her cheek, which matched his. Hers was a mere scratch by comparison. It wasn't bleeding. Her eyes bugged as she saw his, and she wiped his blood away with her sleeve before she could think better of it and ask for a handkerchief. Right... how crazed he must have looked, storming into Gringotts with blood dripping down his face.</p><p>"What happened?" she said softly.</p><p>"You first."</p><p>Hermione pressed her eyes shut. "The banker directed me here and brought me the box. Then, he came in. Locked the door. He came at me with a knife." She pointed to her cheek, and then at the knife, which was now housed in the heart of her attacker. Then, she smiled, despite everything. "I fought back. I kicked him as hard as I could in the groin, but he managed to nick me a few times."</p><p>"How did you get the knife from him?" Draco knelt beside the body of his former friend, and examined the stiletto knife, a pearl-handled thing which was covered in a bloody handprint.</p><p>"I bit him. He dropped it. Then... I was sort of running on adrenaline. I don't remember throwing it, I just... everything welled up, and I was angry, he was laughing at me--he taunted me, said they've been waiting for me to come out of hiding, that our little Brief was cute, but would ultimately prove fruitless--everything went white. Then you grabbed my hand."</p><p>Draco shook his head. "What was in the box?"</p><p>"A memory phial." Hermione patted the pocket of her jacket. She gestured at the body of her attacker and seemed unable to fathom that she had succeeded in not only defending herself, but killing him. She shrugged helplessly. "How are we going to get out of here?"</p><p>He let out a long breath. "Pansy's right. I'm... I've let you down. I should've come in with you. Taboo be damned. This is my fault." Draco groaned. "And now we've both been seen in public--"</p><p>"It wouldn't have mattered. He was waiting for someone to show up for the box, so he could take the contents. We could've sent Ron, Harry--the outcome would've been the same, or worse." Hermione straightened and set her shoulders. "We knew the risk."</p><p>"They want <em> you." </em> He scrubbed his face. "I have one purpose, you know?" She stared at him as he began to unravel before her eyes. He was angry--with her, himself... Pansy, for pointing out what he had been casually ignoring as he let his bond with Hermione eclipse all sense. He had one job: to protect her. To keep her from harm. Not to hold her when she wept, or sleep beside her every night, or feel her body--he had no right to dream the things he had imagined the last few nights, either. Of being free of duty, of this woman in a different world where their life revolved around a small cottage by the sea as her belly grew rounder every day, of a life which couldn't exist. His eyes prickled and he blinked rapidly. He stood, looming over her. </p><p>"From now on, you do what I tell you. We go where I say, when I say. That's it." He rubbed his chin in frustration; his head was swirling and he was light-headed. "The fallout of this, once the body is found... I'll get prison time for certain." Even as he said it, it hit him like a ton of bricks. They could be parted forever, because of this. Why was he high--he felt high--Draco huffed. "There will be no question of who's at fault. I was seen, I'm on trial for murder. The connection is a straight line. Fuck, Hermione. The choices you make affect me, too."</p><p>Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her eyes burned with an angry fire. "I... I should've let him kill me, then?" She shoved hard against his chest, and he held her wrists in a vice.</p><p>"No. Thank the gods you killed him. You did what you had to do. But I'm no longer going to let you put yourself into such positions, given how we're linked, now. You won't breathe unless I give you permission, do you hear me?" He wrenched on her hands so hard that she winced, trying as best as she could to wrest them from his unfailing grip. He held fast. "I can't lose you. I can't." </p><p>Pain shot through his abdomen, in the hard plane of his right side. His eyes rolled back and he teetered. Hermione gripped his shoulders as he lurched forward. She cupped his cheeks, said panicked words, at least she must have--but he couldn't make out her words for a moment. He fell to his knees. With shaking hands, he rucked his shirt out of his waistband and lifted it. The fabric was soaked through. The skin was severed and weeping blood. A deep and jagged cut.</p><p>"Oh, gods," Hermione cried. Her pained words cut through his stupor and Draco peered at her through slits. </p><p>"Did he... did he stab you, by chance?" Draco gritted his teeth and pressed a hand over the wound in his belly. Hermione paled and drew up her own top. Sure enough, there was a faint bruise with a shallow cut. "Ah."</p><p>Hermione covered her mouth with both hands and shook her head. "No. Oh gods, no, no, no."</p><p>He laughed faintly, deliriously. "When Slytherin's heir, wielded like shield and sword, <em>pierces his own heart--"</em></p><p>"No!" she protested. "We solved it, we fulfilled your part of the prophecy--"</p><p>He reached for her with an unsteady hand and brushed her chin, hand falling almost the moment he touched her skin. "I... don't think we did." He rocked forward and Hermione caught him, propping him up with an arm around his waist. "It didn't hurt before... why does it hurt?"</p><p>"We have to get you out of here," Hermione gasped. "I can't heal you without my wand!"</p><p>"If you have any ideas, I'm all ears." He nosed her neck. Lilacs... right. That's what home smelled like, he remembered. Lilac skin. He needed to feel that skin. He needed to get out of there with her.</p><p>"I'll bind it, and we'll walk out, like nothing has happened. Come on, Draco. It's now, or you bleed out right here." Hermione managed to get him to sit upright and made quick work of a makeshift bandage; her cotton top was ripped into strips, and his belt would hold the fabric in place at least until they were in possession of their wands once again. </p><p>It was ridiculous, the feeling of unending splitting pain paired with the tight pinch of his belt being cinched several inches higher than usual around his waist, but it did the job. He used the table to stand, and Hermione made quick work of the buttons on his coat. She brushed a hand back through his hair, so he was unruffled to inquiring eyes. She secured her own coat over her bra, masking the fact that she was no longer wearing a top. Once she had helped Draco limp into the hallway, Hermione turned the inner lock on the door and shut it behind them, to buy them some time. At least the body wouldn't be discovered until they were out of there. In theory.</p><p>Draco looped one arm around her shoulders and used the wall to walk. The pain radiated down his right leg with every step, and his knees were jelly. When they reached the stairs, he groaned. </p><p>"I swear to Merlin if I make it up those steps, it will be a miracle." He blinked away the ocular headache that had built, which made dark flickers obscure his vision. Hermione stood behind him and kept both hands on his back as he took the steps. His feet continued to lift, but he relied more and more on her touch to ease him upwards. A young witch passed them coming down the stairs and Draco nodded to her. Hermione ignored the woman, but patted his back like a comforting lover, and not like the one thing keeping him from passing out and pitching backwards. </p><p>Finally, they reached the main floor. Hermione took his elbow and urged him towards the podium at the entrance. He smiled down at her, but he couldn't see her expression. Her face was blacked out. All he could feel, other than his heart throbbing in his stomach, was her tight hold on his arm. Even the floor was falling away. It was just a few steps away, and he perched on the desk to remain upright. </p><p>Hermione pocketed both of their wands and pushed open the massive mahogany door. Somehow, Draco made it out. Something poked him in the side. Low words were spoken. His pain lessened, but only slightly. His vision cleared to see Pansy before him. He looked up. The sky was piercingly blue, like the stab of light through his stomach--a shock of radiant blue made so by the reflection of water, no clouds to obscure it, just undiluted, pure blue. He closed his eyes. He slumped.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My face cast for Pansy is Leslie-Ann Brandt, aka Mazikeen from Lucifer (Netflix). Sexy, sassy... total badass. Thank you so much for reading! Now begins the second part of this mystery!</p><p>S/o to @pink_wednesdays for asking me the right questions and telling me I'm not crazy :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The gang looks into the pensieve, Ron and Hermione finally talk, and Hermione touches something she shouldn't.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He was so tall, his coat ate her up--lapel around her cheekbones, sleeves to her knees. Standing outside, when the air was too crisp and clear to be anything other than transitory, Hermione was struck at once by the choice to put the stick to her lips and light it. Strike it, suck, blow. It’s what he would do, if the situation was too much, if </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>was unconscious with a stab gash to the abdomen. He would smoke, and then he would fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione shivered within the woolen walls of Fort Malfoy, a coat without limits pulled about her shoulders like a great woven citadel. He had been out for twenty-four hours or more. The sun went down and up and down again and taunted her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We wake up--why won’t he?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His side had sheathed a knife meant for a different hollow.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goyle had stabbed her.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco bled for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clove cigarette danced against her shuddering lips. They kept urging her to let him alone, to trust he needed time to heal, but all she wanted to do was hunt down their threat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was their time, now, and she wouldn’t waste it. It just meant fighting harder, trying more options, killing more former Death Eaters with blades through their hearts if that’s what it took. She didn’t care for Goyle, never had. Now when she imagined that moment, when the point of the knife bisected his rips, choosing which atoms of flesh to flank around a knife of Dwarven steel, it seemed like a crystal clear reel.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goyle lunged, the weight of him glancing off her abdomen, and wound an arm around her neck. She bit him--he released. She snatched it up and lunged herself--he countered, shoving off the table, and she threw it--as hard as she could, with fingers curled around the blade, with the hope this was the last time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She jammed her free hand in the left coat pocket. The softened packet of cigarettes gave way beneath her fingertips and her right hand jabbed into something cool and metal. She traced the shape of it. There was no mistaking what it was. Hermione knew, before she hooked her finger through the metal loop, that it was a black tungsten ring with an emerald set in onyx stones. She knew, because when she had found Narcissa Malfoy’s body floating out on a raft made of reeds to her watery grave in Draco’s mind the night she woke him from his nightmare, she had seen him balancing the ring on his pinkie. He had dropped it into that very pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione drew out her hand with her hand closed on the little ring. She took another deep drag from the cigarette and opened her fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air deadened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione!</span>
  </em>
  <span> She jumped backwards. The tinny sound of the ring bouncing off the slate echoed around her, and the air felt lively again with ambient sounds. She covered her mouth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She knelt down, and reached out one finger. As soon as her skin grazed the stone, the world went silent once more, and her name thrummed from it like a drumbeat… a heartbeat. A slow one, of someone at rest. Not her own heart, which shuddered in her throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. Hermione.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat back on her heels. The wind rushed in, a bird chattered from the garden wall. All Hermione could think was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not again.</span>
  </em>
  <span> This could not be happening--not when he was comatose upstairs, not when she couldn’t take it to him and show him and make him explain what it was and why it called to her. Obviously, it was his mother’s. That’s all she knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet… her hand wanted it. Her left, slowly reaching. Fingers itching. The moment she touched it again, this time with her middle finger, intending just to pull the thing towards her until she could find something to grab it with, the metal felt warm to the touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione, put it on. Put it on. Wear it, Hermione. Do it. It wants you to. Put it on. Put it on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice--no, Narcissa’s. Insistent, incessant. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Put it on. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>What would it hurt? He’d never know, she’d find out something without needing his intervention first… what did she have to lose?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slipped the ring over her first knuckle and the ring began to hum. When it passed over the second, everything went white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her vision flashed with images, all hot and fiery--burning, lapping flames over turkish carpets, shelves sagging as they smoldered, the smell of paper as the edges curled up before being consumed in it, and choking breaths, smoke filling lungs--not hers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Windows shattering from the heat, bursting in a rain of shards. The manor house of the Malfoy family caving inward, as a fiendish fire consumed the roof. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last image she saw was the great tree, the one from their prophecy… turning to ash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her ears opened again as the vision left her. The bird on the wall tweeted his curiosity. She tugged at the searing tungsten, but it wouldn’t budge from her skin. The scent of cloves hit her in a wave. Hermione stamped out the cigarette beside her boot, where it lay smoldering. The ring felt like it was tightening on her finger, and yet it didn’t look it; when the tightness ceased, the emerald flashed in… recognition, almost, of a duty it had fulfilled. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Narcissa. Why did you show me this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, she remembered the sound of him choking. She bolted into the house and up the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione threw open the door to the guest room which she had been sharing with her bodyguard for days… he was still unreachable. Shallow breaths made his chest rise and fall. He still had a grey pallor. He wasn’t dying from smoke in his lungs, and he was not aware Hermione now wore his mother’s ring. She yanked the sleeves of the jacket over her hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. She rested her head on top of his, smoothing the blanket beneath his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please wake up,” she murmured against his hair. But he didn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hermione.” Pansy leaned against the door with her jacket draped over her shoulders. “It’s set up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione nodded once. She divested herself of Draco’s coat, laying it over the foot board. She concealed her hands while her back was to Pansy. “Is Hannah joining us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. And Ron. Harry too, before he leaves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, he is going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told him not to. He doesn’t put much stock in my opinions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione peeked over her shoulder. “What does Ron think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That we should all flee to America and ask the MACUSA for asylum.” Pansy snorted. “Can’t say I’m surprised, given the brat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione toed the ground. Her heart clenched in her chest. She could no longer deny the fact that he often had a child in his arms with strawberry blonde hair and a spate of freckles across her nose. The child doted on him, and he on her. The words hadn’t been said just yet, but his paternal posture was unmistakable. “How do you suppose </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>happened?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He let someone in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” Hermione smiled sadly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pansy shrugged. “You should talk to him about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not paramount, given what else we’re dealing with--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you had, you’d know she’s missing. The child’s mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione turned around. “How do you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pansy looked between Hermione and the man in the bed. “I’m not begrudging you for being with Draco, I’m sure you feel guilty about what happened, but… you need to sit with some of these people and hear what they’re going through. Your pain isn’t the only pain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow. Harsh.” Hermione blinked back a rush of tears. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t my job to coddle you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is your job, exactly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pansy shook her head in annoyance, and turned on her heel. Hermione followed behind her down the stairway, towards the front of the house. The decision had been made to set up the pensieve in the kitchen; Justin’s office was too quaint for five people to crowd around the basin which lived in the corner beside his globe, and no one was willing to lug the pedestal any further than across the hall. The kitchen had good light, and enough room for the five of them to have elbow room. It also had the added benefit of being near the kettle, which was in a constant state of heat given the number of stressed adults living under one room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry and Ron were conversing quietly as the latecomers entered the kitchen; Hannah filled the pensieve’s basin with silvery liquid with a pitcher. Wherever the pensieve’s essence had been stored prior (likely a blue glass jar, given how murky the liquid still was), it had been well protected from sunlight and over-use. Whatever memory Justin had saved would be crisp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they caught sight of Pansy and Hermione, the boys each affected a pleasant smile. They had perfected this act over the last few days after Hermione had an outburst (everyone had been looking at her pityingly since they returned with Draco, and yet none of them asked her if she was alright), choosing to be cordial and calm whenever she was in their presence. If it weren’t for the fact that they were her oldest friends, Hermione might have suspected them of being up to something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have we got?” Pansy elbowed Harry as she passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced at his wristwatch. “My interview is at two. We’ve an hour or so until I have to bow out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re prepared?” Hermione asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded. “Ambassador Dolman is meeting me there, he will give a more detailed account of their needs. He has an idea of where to host the gala, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope Skeeter is serious about the Prophet funding it,” Pansy said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’d do anything to have the scoop on the downward spiral of the Ministry,” Ron said with a snort, “even if it means bankrupting the paper. Nevermind that our economy is going to utterly collapse with it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not entirely fair,” Hannah protested, fixing Ron with a pointed look. “Rita Skeeter is a lot of things, but I don’t imagine she’s celebrating this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate your kindness towards her, Hannah, but she used to publish gossip about the three of us when we were still </span>
  <em>
    <span>children.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I hardly think she has a tear to spare for the Ministry as long as she has the story--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m letting her have what she wants,” Harry intervened. “She can have our story, on our terms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s way too risky,” Pansy said. She pushed off the counter where she had been leaning, and folded her arm across her body. Were she still possessed of her other arm, she would’ve drummed her pointed nails on her elbow in annoyance. “I can’t believe any of you are seriously considering this. You’re lucky Malfoy isn’t awake. You can bet he’d have a few things to say about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s pray he doesn’t wake up before I leave.” Harry winced the moment it came out and whirled to face Hermione. “I’m so sorry, ‘Mione, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held up her hand and swallowed hard. “Pansy’s correct. He wouldn’t like it. He thinks he has the answer to everything, so let him rest, and we’ll proceed. First things first… Justin’s memory. He wanted us to see it badly enough that he locked it up for safe keeping. It’s important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s gaze darted to her ring finger and back again. Hermione let her hand drop and prayed no one else noticed. Given the way Pansy was boring a hole in the side of her head, Hermione had a bad feeling. Still, she turned towards the vessel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What should I prepare myself for?” Hannah asked, shifting between her feet. “I’ve never done this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s strange at first, but you get used to it.” Harry patted Hannah’s shoulder. “We just go where the memory takes us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feels like drowning,” Pansy muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry cringed. “It’s brief.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a bit like flying, and you don’t get to choose your destination,” Ron clarified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will only see what Justin chose to share,” Hermione said. She gave Hannah a reassuring smile. The pensieve basin was a modest wooden bowl, which was smooth and laminated in layers of red, gold, and grey woods. “Did Justin make this?” Hermione gestured to the basin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannah shook her head. “My father did. He was a carpenter. He gave it to us for our first anniversary.” She was grieved for a moment, but she laughed. “Justin told him it would be used as a baptismal font.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A… what?” Pansy wrinkled her nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Muggle thing,” Hannah explained, “a ritual for welcoming babies into the world. Not sure what Dad would think of this whole thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron snorted. “In my limited experience, Muggles take things much better than we give them credit for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione smiled gratefully. Ron was the only pureblood wizard in the room besides Pansy, and although his family had never done much to assert it, at least not in the way the Parkinsons or Malfoys had, it still felt like a kind acknowledgment. Ron reached out and clasped Hermione’s arm. Harry flanked her on the other side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Hermione’s heart clenched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here they were: the Golden trio, back together again. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he rubbed her arm. They were here because of her, but not </span>
  <em>
    <span>for her.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Together. Joined for a common cause once again, the same cause as before in new dressings. And when she needed them--both of them--they showed up. She searched the piercing green eyes behind slim metal frames. A nearly indistinguishable scar carved over his right eyebrow. Same as he ever was. No, better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s do it,” Hermione said. She fished the vial from her pocket (well, Draco’s jumper pocket), and held it over the bowl. Pansy stood to Harry’s left, and Hannah filled in the gap between Pansy and Ron. The five leaned over the silvery water. Hermione poured the memory in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They dove into the grey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The liquid swirled around them until it settled out, rippling outward from their entry point until the waves calmed. The image was crisp. Justin sat behind his desk, staring at a piece of parchment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh…” Hannah made a pained gasp. “He’s so rumpled. He never let me iron his shirts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s he got there?” Pansy positioned herself behind the man, looking over his shoulder. As she did so, he read it aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amycus Carrow. Alecto Carrow. Blaise Zabini. Lucius Malfoy. Gregory Goyle. Thorfinn Rowle.” Justin lit the paper on fire and it turned to ash. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The image transformed; both Ron and Justin were present, and they were standing in his home office this time. Justin’s arm was around Ron’s shoulder. Hannah brought in a cup of tea and handed it to the distraught man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Freddie’s asking for you, Ron,” Hannah said. “Imelda’s got her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Ron whispered. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She was so anxious to get out… ‘just let me walk around the block, Ronald!’ I should’ve gone with her--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not your fault,” Hannah insisted. “Annika knew the risks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She has a child--what was she thinking?!” The memory of Ron dissolved into tears. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll find her. I promise.” Justin clapped his friend on the back and the image shifted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron shut the door behind himself, striding into Justin’s Ministry office with his hair disheveled and looking a fright. Present Ron’s eyes widened. He held out a hand to Hermione and she took it. Past Ron rushed forward. He spoke frantically. The first of the conversation that could be heard was Justin’s calm words, as he laid a reassuring hand on Ron’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a duty to your child,” Justin said. “You cannot put yourself at risk, either. Why do you believe Natalie isn’t suited to the task?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I can’t do it, please let me suggest another.” Ron insisted. “The man I’m thinking of has the protection of a taboo, and he’s a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I happen to think Natalie has done a fine job so far. I don’t believe Hermione has realized Natalie charmed her door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, boss,” Pansy murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Memory Ron shook his head, while the present version patted Hermione’s hand. “It’s not enough. I can’t lose Hermione, too. It would kill me. She’s at the top of their list, you said so yourself--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So am I, Ron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please. What’s the harm in adding someone to her detail?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin sat back and considered this. “What aren’t you telling me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron straightened. “I have reason to believe she plays a greater part in all of this than we realized. Proof, actually--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop there. Don’t tell me. If something happens to me, I don’t want to reveal anything.” Justin stood and buttoned his coat. “Who do you have in mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unspeakable Malfoy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin was stunned by the suggestion, and braced against the desk. “You’re kidding me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s been a good friend to me,” Ron said. “He’s proven himself to be quite trustworthy.  When Annika gave birth, he got me into St. Mungo’s with his taboo so nobody would know I was there. Might be his name on Freddie’s birth certificate,” the fumbling redhead joked. “He didn’t know why, but he did it without complaint. Surely we can trust him to keep an eye on Hermione.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin sighed. “Gerald Covington has grown bold of late, and my sanction barely touched the Minister’s desk before I was laughed out of his office. My insistence he be punished has fallen on deaf ears. I’m afraid Natalie would fare much worse if she confronted the man. If Draco Malfoy can keep her safe, he’s the best person for the job. Despite what he was like in school."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Memory Ron held out a hand and shook Justin’s vigorously. “Thank you. You’re doing the right thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we can find them, it will be worth it. It’s all for them. For Annika,” Justin emphasized, patting Ron’s arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory changed again, but this time Justin stood in the washroom of their home. He was haggard, and his sleeves were pulled up to his elbows. He stared himself dead in the eyes, which gave the five onlookers the impression he was staring at each of them personally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re seeing this, I am dead,” he began, scrubbing a hand over his face. Harry put an arm around Hannah’s shoulder as she sagged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By now, I’ve received thirty three letters from the group claiming responsibility for the missing people; they call themselves the Jawless. To me, they’re no better than Snatchers, grabbing anyone who dared go against them. This latest one--” Justin held up a note with a broken black seal-- “has the address of my home. I won’t be deterred. If they want me to stop digging, they had better make me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have tracked down three possible locations the Jawless may be hiding their bounty. Approximately fifty women and an unknown number of children are missing by my count, based on the reports I have collected myself. Who knows how the count differs when weighed against Hermione Granger’s knowledge. I wish we had time to speak, Hermione. If you’re watching this. I hope you are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The following locations have appeared in my research. One: Sanderson Mills. It’s an abandoned town with an old mill building and plenty of ruins to hide refugees. Gerald Covington’s grandfather owned the mill. The town was forcibly evacuated during the second world war. I’ve found three recent purchase reports for property in the area, and Sanderson Mills featured recently in a Muggle paper for ‘reinvigorating potential in rural Sussex.’ It’s likely the Jawless need ample space, and minimal attention drawn to their actions from Muggles or otherwise. If they were using Sanderson Mills before, they may have abandoned it since the article was published.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Second is less a town than it is an old port. Porth Wen on the island of Anglesey, in Wales. There’s an old brickworks there, access to the sea. Short boat ride to Dublin. John MacAfee made reservations for a stay in Anglesey three weeks ago at the Trecastell Hotel for himself and his wife, Sofia. If the women are being housed there, there’s a chance they’re being prepared to take out to sea, whether to Ireland or beyond. Taking them out on a boat would make it much easier to conceal them, and sailing into international waters would give the Jawless immunity if they were apprehended at sea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The last place I believe is possible is right here, in the Ministry. If so, they’re being concealed in the Department of Mysteries. I have high clearance, but not high enough to get access. However. I did manage to rely on a resource.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By now, you will know Pansy Parkinson has been an ally in all of this. She’s kept both Hermione and myself safe from harm, as long as feasibly possible. Thanks to her, I know that what was once the Love Chamber has been decommissioned. No more research is being done within, and the Unspeakables assigned to the chamber have been reassigned. No one is allowed in or out, and the door is unlockable by magical means or otherwise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If this is indeed a holding location, I shudder to think what this will mean for our relationship with the United Confederation of Magic, and the Konsulstvo. But we have two Unspeakables on our side. I believe we can find them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ask you to abandon our home. When the Jawless attack--and I have no doubt they will--I hope you’ll all be far from here. Get the women to Hogwarts if you can. Minerva McGonagall will give them shelter, I’m sure of it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin took a moment to stare--at himself, at the potential watchers, and then he turned away from the mirror. As he did so, the memory ended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the five emerged from the pensieve, Hannah strode from the room. Pansy followed without a word, leaving Hermione alone with the men. She glanced between her friends. Harry rubbed his face, while Ron considered his shoes. What was there to say? A great number of things, and none of them felt right. Instead, Hermione put her hands in her pockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ron…” she began. He looked up at her expectantly. “What’s your daughter’s name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled and scratched his head, blushing. “Fredericka. It was… Annika’s idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You named her after Fred.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Freddie for short.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love it,” Hermione said gently. His concern slipped into relief, and he glanced at Harry, who was smiling. “I’m sorry about Annika.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll be alright. She’s strong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is.” Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re on our way, I’m sure she knows.” He checked his watch. “I have to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry… will you thank Albert for me?” Hermione asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, ‘Mione.” Harry went on his way, with a brief smile. Ron jammed his hands in his pockets and sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How… how long have you known what was going on with Justin?” Hermione sat at the counter on a stool and Ron mimicked her posture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… it’s a long story. I met Annika in Paris. She’s an old friend of Fleur’s from Beauxbatons,” Ron said. “She… hated me, at first,” he chuckled, and Hermione couldn’t help but join in. “She wrote to me. She said it was an excuse to practice her English, but she ran circles around me with words, and soon enough she was… asking me to visit her. So, I did.” He studied her hands, which were folded politely in her lap. He took her left hand in his and pulled the sleeve back so he could observe the ring which wouldn’t come off.  He didn’t touch it, but his attention to it made her self-conscious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She got pregnant rather easily, I won’t elaborate how it happened… I’m sure you can infer. It wasn’t long before I was so desperate to see her I bypassed the license process which I myself oversee, and apparated illegally. I was immediately pulled into the Minister’s office and sanctioned upon my return. Me. So… like you, I began going through reports… so did she, from Moscow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You… you knew before Justin,” Hermione realized. He nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s humbling to realize you’re not very good at your job,” he groaned. “Bad enough, in fact, that you don’t notice when reports of illegal travel cross your desk until they affect you personally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione squeezed his hand. “You’re a fine Transport official, Mister Weasley. Nobody else could’ve gotten hold of that information for Justin, for me… for Annika.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he said softly. “What I said in… the memory… it was true. I knew I couldn’t protect you </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> Annika, especially once she was pregnant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laid her hand over his heart. “I wish you had told me about Annika, and Freddie… from the start. Ron--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” He looked away. “I know you feel--</span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> about me. It would’ve hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t give me a chance to understand!” Hermione exclaimed. “As far as I knew, it was always you and me. We were a no-brainer. I don’t understand why you didn’t trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you expect me to say? ‘Hey, Hermione--just fyi, I had a fling with a Russian official and she’s pregnant--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be a start!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh!” He threw up his hands. “I’m sorry! I should’ve told you a long time ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head slowly, trying to receive his feelings openly, even as it hurt to listen. “Was there ever a time you thought we might work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron fixed her with a pained expression. Then, he nodded. “Once, recently. The night at the Manor when he called me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione blushed. “You almost kissed me the next morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did. But. I saw his face when you cried out in your sleep. I can’t give you </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He </span>
  <em>
    <span>lives </span>
  </em>
  <span>for you. I can’t say I saw it coming when I asked him to protect you. if you’re happy, if… if you feel wanted, then </span>
  <em>
    <span>gods. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m thrilled for you, and for him. Godric knows he deserves it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you come to be… close friends with Draco? I understand that least of all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, he’s a dark horse, that one.” Ron laced their fingers together. “He must’ve been newly admitted as an Unspeakable when he first came to see me--he was skittish, rude, couldn’t look me in the eye--and he had no idea how fortunate he was in his appointment. He didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to file reports through me, not with his taboo in place, but he did anyway. I bought him a drink for the first time in Amalfi a few years ago. By the time everything happened with Annika, he and I had a standing weekly drink. He was the first person I told about the pregnancy. I was the first person he told about his father. I tried to talk him out of turning himself in… but that integrity he tried so hard to prove to me? He had it. In spades.” Ron rubbed her knuckles. “I will do my best to keep him out of Azkaban, and… not just for your sake. He’s a brother to me, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s one more?” Hermione said tearfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Ron brushed a tear trail from her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Gods,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she exclaimed with an unattractive sniffle, “you do realize how much I wanted to avoid this conversation with you, right?” His face fell, and she clutched his hand. “No… no, I want to, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but I… how do I explain it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me try. Can I?” Hermione nodded and he kissed her hand. “You meet someone and little by little, the things you want align with theirs. You feel crazy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>insane,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>every day</span>
  </em>
  <span> you wake up a little more attuned to them. It doesn’t have to make sense. It just is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like that, yeah.” Hermione scoffed at the ridiculousness of it… hearing him say it, him validating the feelings she felt. It wasn’t the whole of it, and he wanted her to share. So… what if Draco never recovered? Would she have to hold this feeling alone?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We… have a bond. Not just like this--” she held up their clasped hands-- “but deep. He’s laying up in that room, because when I get hurt, he feels it. It didn’t used to be that way, but it’s only gotten stronger. I’m afraid what’s going to happen to him, Ron. I’ve seen the prophecy. I thought we had solved it… I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if he never came back into my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d be dead,” Ron sighed. “Or alive, and out of a job. Or missing just like Annika. It would’ve been different, and we’ll never know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you love her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I lose sleep about her, I am… fond of her. We didn’t get much time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you figure that out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will.” Hermione sniffled and Ron pulled her into a hug. “I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you always.” He kissed her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannah padded into the kitchen, and rubbed Hermione’s shoulder. It was affectionate, and totally lacking in judgment about the emotional conversation she clearly had shared with Ron. The woman was ruffled, still, but her kind face was set with determination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just did another medi-scan, and I’m concerned.” Hannah thumbed over her shoulder. “We need you upstairs, in order to test a theory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on,” Ron said with a nudge. He looked sad, yet peaceful. “I’m sure Imelda has had her fill of Freddie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione followed Hannah upstairs to the guest room. Pansy was perched on the side of the bed; the covers on the bed were pooled at Draco’s waist and she was examining his incision. She didn’t look up as Hermione entered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s bad,” she said frankly. “His internal bleeding is worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hannah said you had an idea.” Hermione sat on the empty space beside Draco. She tried not to look at his injury, but she must… after all, it was hers, wasn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lay back,” Pansy said. Hermione did so, resting back against the headboard. Hannah skirted around the bed and held her wand over Hermione’s abdomen. She grimaced as the tip of the wand glowed red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannah sleeved her wand, nodding to Pansy. “You were right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” Hermione asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scanning Draco shows nothing. No cut, no bleeding, nothing,” Pansy explained. “None of the potions have helped, and he’s obviously bleeding internally--I’d guess there’s potential organ failure in his future if we don’t treat him. But scanning you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s dire. It turns red like you’re dying,” Hannah said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione blanched. “So…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to drink a healing potion to test my theory,” Pansy said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll try anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannah handed Hermione a vial of purple liquid. She downed it quickly and laid back. Waiting. The other two women watched patiently as the potion worked through her system, but she felt no different. Hermione turned on her side and studied Draco’s face--he was calm, relaxed, jaw softened without the stress of being awake. Suddenly, she could see it, a small change. His cheeks grew slightly pink, and the warmth spread through his exposed skin. His chest rose as he breathed deeper and Hermione’s heart leapt. She gripped his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The swelling around the laceration lessened, and the corners knitted themselves together until the skin was joined again. His skin was still purple with a bruise, but even that appeared to be healing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pansy laughed in disbelief. “Mark it, ladies! September nineteenth--the day Pansy Parkinson was right. Remember this moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione gasped. “What did you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was right--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s September nineteenth,” Hannah offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beside her, he let out a little gasp of air and Hermione’s attention snapped to him. His eyes were open in slits, peering at her in confusion, but still--he was awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy birthday to me,” Hermione breathed.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy birthday (in story) to Hermione! :) Let me know what you think! And find me on Tumblr at TheSuperJane to chat.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Draco's conscious, but wracked with guilt for more than one reason. Hermione reminds him that he has nothing to fear, and Pansy confides.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I apologize for the delay in this most recent update. It's been A Year. Here's some sweetness and some smut, to make up for it. ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Come to me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long before the washroom door unlatched. She must have been sitting in the hall. The water pelted his back as he braced himself on the wall with one hand. His side ached. It was a fraction of the pain it had been, but still. Hermione touched the small of his back. He let out a rush of breath as a shock of awareness swept over his body, independent of his usual desire for her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. That’s new.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione hummed, a sound both surprised and curious to touch his skin again with a new layer of recognition. Oh, the tingles which spread outward from the origin point, from her little hand as it climbed up his spine… now his skin </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> hers. The fine hairs on his body stood up to receive her. He shivered. His entire body was consumed in goose pimples, but he didn’t care, so long as she didn’t stop. But she did, and he peered at her over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The water had drenched her long locks, and she appeared every bit a selkie come to drag him to his watery doom. Instead, she glanced between her hovering hand and </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What’s wrong?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, but her hand fell to her side. He turned to her, and she shied away, until her back was pressed against the tile. He caged her in with his arms, nevermind that the spray of the water pelted the top of his head. She squeaked as he nipped her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re afraid of me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her face was so close he watched her eyes dilate, and darken. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What do you think I’m going to do to you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have every right to be upset with me,” she whispered. “I am so sorry--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t. I… you were unconscious for two days, I was so desperate for you to wake up--I think I’ve accidentally become a smoker!” She glared at him when he chuckled. “I was so worried. I’m lucky I have fingernails left. You don’t--” Hermione stopped, and leaned into his hand, which grazed her cheek. She finished the thought inwardly, where her voice sounded to him like a warm balm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t know what it’s like to wait for your… you don’t know what desperation I felt. At the thought of losing you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then, I am a fortunate man.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes fluttered shut, and she folded herself into his chest. The ripple of static made them both shiver. He brought the hand which bore his mother’s ring to his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I had the chance to give it to you myself.” Draco cradled her head to his chest and turned her away, so the water didn’t collect between their bodies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had forgotten the ring was in his coat pocket, but that must’ve been where she found it. It had been there for so long--how many times had he replaced his pack of cigarettes beside it in the pocket and not regarded the little thing at all? It skipped right between his fingers every time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a jade’s trick, orchestrated by his mother in emerald and tungsten. Still… it did look well on her, and it claimed her as his. A proper claim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A ring means something to most people,” she mumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A token, simply.” Or so he told himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People will assume--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let them.” He scoffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco, surely…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush. Spare me your protestations, or I shall have to throw you out into the cold air without a towel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled against her hair. She looked up at him. Perhaps his affection for her made her glow, but she had always been beautiful. Now, drenched in water and snuggled tight, curls stuck to her forehead, she was like a sweet, ripe peach. His. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Somehow, in the course of a few long weeks, he had made a daily discovery of her charms, and now… he didn’t just want her. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>her. Enormously. How he had gone two days without being aware of her, he’d never know.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We must talk about what this means. Not my mother’s ring, but the bond.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not right now. We’re just lucky Pansy was right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione reached past him and took a bar from the dish on the ledge. She lathered the soap between her palms. Draco studied her; she was focused on the bubbles, but when her eyes flicked up to his, she had a determined look in her eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you intend to do, Ms. Granger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wash you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re in recovery. You need me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m capable of washing myself,” he laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Well, I can leave you to it--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed her elbow. “I'm enfeebled. I’m infirm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Help me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled shyly. Her hands crept to his nape, and she massaged his shoulders. His eyes closed, and he allowed her to do as she said. But this time, he sensed her in every pore. The soap was stringent. The slide of the bubbles softened the simple soap, and made her hands glide over him. He leaned back at her insistence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was not often shy, but something about being in control made her so. There was a heady dichotomy between the sweet creature she was when he held her, and the strong witch she was in every other manner, and his cock twitched to see her touch him in confidence while </span>
  <em>
    <span>blushing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do so. Her gaze fell downward.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sir, you are recovering.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I like when you call me ‘sir.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Rivulets of water dripped down his torso, carrying soapy suds with them. Her fingertips followed. She avoided touching him intimately, but her hand lingered over his yellow and purple bruise. The sudden ache made him grit his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re healing well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to have to teach you how to protect your core in a duel,” he said. “This is the second injury you’ve taken to the stomach. The only dangerous creature you should be showing your belly to is me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed. “I will admit, it’s been several years since I trained in dueling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a deadly shot with a knife, however.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face fell at the mention of her first kill. “I couldn’t replicate that outcome if I tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could I revisit that memory?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already told you what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want to see a few details. Especially after. I don’t remember how we got outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could we talk through it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sparked behind her eyes and warmth spread through him like he had come home after a long holiday. She met him there, little moth. His focus flickered between her down-turned face, scrubbing his fingers and up his arms, and the essence of her moth inside. Never had so intimate a connection been within his grasp. There would never be another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I entered Gringotts,” she said, and her memory did just that. She handed her wand over, and descended the stairs. “A banker led me to the receiving room. I told you what happened next.” The banker brought in the small vault, and Hermione unlocked it. She pulled out the vial and pocketed it in her jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then Goyle came in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded. Her fingers had found their way to his left shoulder and he winced again. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bum shoulder. Probably shouldn’t have chopped wood for your mum, but where would we be?” He grinned and gave her a peck. “It’s nothing, don’t worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When it comes to you, that seems to be all I do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lingered a while longer on his shoulder, and continued the walk through her memory. She paused her ministrations to his skin and gripped his biceps. The image she shared with him rolled quickly through the next events, but this time she honed in on the moment she had caught his knife in the side. Her eyes flashed in the memory, like they had been electrified--not gold, like they usually did when she got worked up, but silver. She bit the attacker, the knife dropped, he backed out the door, she bore into him with those silver eyes and chucked it without a second thought, while green bolts crackled around the knife. When the blade embedded itself into Goyle’s chest, she gasped, and her honey-colored eyes warmed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the present, Hermione gaped at him. “Oh my gods. I… in that moment, I was thinking of you. How I’d never see you again if I didn’t fight. So, I threw the knife as hard as I could, and focused everything in me on striking him in the heart. It shocked my hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t seem possible, or rather… until he connected with this blinding woman, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The spell was banned in most countries, and more importantly, it was one he hadn’t learned until he took the Unspeakable’s Oath. Which meant she was even more talented than he gave her credit for. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Verum iecit.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He cupped her chin. “True shot spell, meant to aid a wizard </span>
  <em>
    <span>or witch, </span>
  </em>
  <span>as it were, in a wandless duel. It’s a kill shot. Should be classified as Unforgivable, except that the DMLE doesn’t track it, because it’s only taught to Unspeakables.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blanched. “How would I have known that spell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It happens to be a favorite of mine. You must’ve found it in my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you can’t cast in Gringotts--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not so. I used </span>
  <em>
    <span>levicorpus,</span>
  </em>
  <span> remember? Casting is possible, but discouraged. The average magical person isn’t adept at wandless magic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry--you’re saying I channeled your magic through our connection?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but kiss her again, pulling at her lips until she panted for breath. Sharing magic, feeling each other’s pain and pleasure, being able to traverse the unseen plane between them at will. Two as one. There was a word for it, but he didn’t dare think it, and force the idea into her head. Instead, he wound his arms around her waist and trailed his fingers over her curves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thighs had begun to shake; he didn’t quite have his stamina back, but he didn’t want to admit it out loud. They weren’t long for restful moments or drawn-out showers, so this time was precious. She moaned into his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re in no condition, Draco--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll touch you. Please.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her knees threatened to buckle at the suggestion, but he held her up. He willed his own legs to stay strong. He needed to give to her, and take nothing for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco pulled back and quirked his eyebrow up in question. She nodded. He delved into her mouth for but a moment, and then his lips found the column of her neck. She was so quiet, despite the silencing charm he had cast when he first entered, but her shuddering breaths were enough. He laved her pulse point. Hermione threaded her fingers into his hair--not to pull him away, but to regain some modicum of control. Control he would not relinquish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He traced the bud of her nipple, circling the little thing until it pebbled. Then the other, and then he kissed the skin between her breasts. He couldn’t lean down any further without aggravating his side, so Draco turned her so her back was to the wall. He skimmed down her torso to the thatch of hair at her center and loomed over her, forcing her to split her attention between his heady stare and his fingers playing her like a fiddle. Her head fell back when he found her clit. She rolled her hips into his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re beautiful.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled in acknowledgment. A wave of her pleasure washed over him as it thrummed through her. His fingers sought out her slit; she gave a mewl of approval when his first finger met her wetness. He teased her with his fingertip, and she peered at him through heavy eyelids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We made it outside,” she huffed, “because I bound your cut. But before--</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh!--</span>
  </em>
  <span>you were so angry with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco sank his finger into her heat fully and nosed her jaw. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. He stroked her spongey softness, coaxing every pleasureful sound from her that he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. You apologized all the way up the stairs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused for a moment and she smiled gently. She projected that piece of the memory, of pushing him upwards. He felt her ache to help him, if only they could </span>
  <em>
    <span>get out…</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he heard himself mutter, drearily, deliriously…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So sorry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry, I need you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione, I’m so sorry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You didn’t mean to. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not your fault. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So sorry, ‘Mione. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Love, please…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco hid his head in her shoulder, and tamped down a surge of guilt, which threatened at the thought of having told her that he loved her, and not remembering it. She carded a hand through his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t take it to heart,” she soothed. “I wasn’t paying attention to </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> you said, just that you were still coherent. You could’ve told me I was a pink elephant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I didn’t,” he moaned, stroking her once again. Her hips canted towards him, and she tilted his chin up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were bleeding out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but…” He slowly worked a second finger inside her and her jaw dropped. “But that </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>what I feel. Not the whole of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” she asked. She fluttered around his fingers. She was close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to say it, now, even after reliving the memory. It was cheap to say the words when he had already thrown away the first admission. He wanted to tell her because he needed her to know, and not because he had been caught unawares. So… he didn’t say anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He coaxed her to completion, and she shattered around him, clutching to him for purchase. Then, she brushed her thumbs across his cheekbones. When he pulled his fingers from her core, Hermione bit her lip. He chased the plush lip with his own and willed her to understand what he couldn’t say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are everything to me,” she murmured. “And even though you think your feelings have been cheapened for me, because you don’t remember saying it… I feel the love in everything you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco’s knees couldn’t hold him up any longer, so he knelt before her like a supplicating knight, and rested his forehead on her stomach. She rubbed his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tugged at his hair until he met her eyes. Her irises were gold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She insisted on helping him with his shirt, one sleeve at a time, and then fastened the buttons up to his chin. She loved him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She loved him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her lips pursed, and her nose wrinkled. He was thinking too loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can handle buttons,” he teased, but she shook her head, causing her brunette curls to dance over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit still. It can be your birthday gift to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did so. Seated on the bed, he had a prime seat to watch her tongue dart out in concentration as she took care of the buttons on his sleeves. She had chosen what he would wear to rejoin the party for supper; a black button-up was de rigueur, but she chose a knit jumper to layer over the top, and the one pair of black corduroys that he owned, to ‘soften him.’ When he was clothed, she took up his comb and passed the tines through his locks. Tingles came over him instantly and his eyes fluttered shut. He took her wrist, stilling her hand, and kissed the soft skin below her thumb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hogwarts, eh?” Draco entwined their fingers. Hermione nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It might be painful.” She needn’t have specified for whom--it was either and both of them who would be grieved to return, but that’s how it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since we will not be among allies who… </span>
  <em>
    <span>know,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he said, suddenly feeling quite shy (a ridiculous emotion, if ever he had one), “I’ll need to Occlude in mixed company, keep my hands to myself… It’s safer, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For whom?” Hermione’s eyes glinted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffed. “I’m assuming you remember that we’re more vulnerable, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco, I understand your intention, but this is Hogwarts we’re talking about. We’ve always been safe there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as his last years at that school flickered like a reel through his mind. Hermione’s fingers touched his temples, pressing in and soothing away the hurt she had unintentionally caused. She kissed his brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you afraid,” she whispered, “of other people knowing that I matter to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He allowed Hermione to cradle his head against her shoulder. He couldn’t answer that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody except those close to us know you’re meant to protect me. To everyone else, to… to on-lookers? Surely having affection for another person is an asset.” She shivered when his arms tugged her tightly to his chest. “Even you deserve love, Draco Malfoy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yours.” His words hung on a twinge of shame and voiced themselves without his permission, so he disentangled himself from her embrace and gave her a hard look, daring her not to touch that admission. She didn’t. She didn’t even give him a pitying look. She slid from his fingers, leaving behind a few errant droplets of water from her hair, and doffed his chin with her knuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him the smallest half of a smile and turned away to choose her own clothing. Her movements were slow, as if she wanted to put off the inevitable as long as possible, but her hair fell over her face and obscured her face from view. Draco reached out, but… nothing. Her wall of occlusion was up. It was like the ocean, which normally rippled out from the shore of her mind, had been entirely drained away. There was no sailing to her. There was only a void.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair play,” he muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She straightened with an armful of fabric. “If you do that to me when I need you, imagine how I’ll feel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco sighed. She was irritated. He used to enjoy making her riled up, pushing at her buttons; hurting her feelings only made him feel hollow, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She flicked her hands and shook out the dress she had chosen, snapping it rougher than necessary. “Don’t shut me out.” He reached for her but she skirted out of his grasp. When she tugged the dress over her head, he could tell her shoulders were tense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone rapped on the door, and didn’t wait for an answer. Pansy peeked inside the room without any concern that she might be interrupting something. And she had--something precious and intimate, which involved Draco tamping down another choking wave of guilt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded to Draco. “Can I have a moment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be right down,” Hermione said over her shoulder, but she didn’t look at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tentatively, Draco stood. He followed Pansy into the hallway and shut the door. His old friend leaned against the stair rail and hugged her waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright?” she asked, letting concern creep into her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well enough.” Draco mimicked her posture. She bumped him with her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m… sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a moment for the right words to come to her. “Disappearing on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she had vanished half a decade prior, he had wondered if there was anything he could’ve done differently. Should he have been more open with her, confided in her, given her an opportunity to cry on his shoulder when her parents went to Azkaban--but no amount of wondering had brought her back again, and his search had been fruitless. She had disappeared without a trace, and he had lost his only ally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In many ways, it didn’t feel like she was back. She had missed so much. His chest tightened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His chin fell to his chest. “You didn’t owe me anything. It’s what we signed up for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have always been the only person who gave me a pass when I don’t deserve it,” she said ruefully, and a nostalgic sadness pulled the corners of her mouth downwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco held out his arm. It took her a moment, but eventually, Pansy accepted the embrace. He rubbed her shoulder. “It’s mutual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to go,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll meet you downstairs--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back to them. To Carrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco swallowed hard. “I just got you back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “I’ve been corresponding with him. To keep him distracted, to conceal this place from their notice. I sent Justin the threat hoping the man would take the hint and flee, because it was only a matter of time before Carrow used his Ministry minions to find his address. That’s why he ordered the attack at the Ministry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You protected this house with a Fidelius charm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She confirmed it with a curt nod. “Apparently killing his sister didn’t win me any favor.” Pansy produced a piece of parchment from the pocket of her trousers and handed it over. He unfolded it. The scrawl was ugly and deep, the ink seeped through the back side of the paper like it had been carved in earnest.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You should have died with him, girl. Come to me. This is the last time I’ll ask nicely.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been ignoring his summons. I don’t know how long I can get away with it. And he’ll certainly kill me when he finds out what I’ve done here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco crumpled up the note and squeezed it in his fist. His fingers twitched as the wordless </span>
  <em>
    <span>incendio</span>
  </em>
  <span> devoured the note, but he brushed away the ashes. “He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot,” she laughed sadly. Then, her face twisted with the threat of tears, which she under no circumstances would permit to fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco pushed her away from him so he could clasp both shoulders and square himself with what she was asking of him. “Listen to me. He has no power over you anymore. You’re a bloody Unspeakable, for Salazar’s sake, and you’re not alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise me you’ll stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes flashed, but she nodded slowly. “I promise.” Pansy in no way looked convinced. She allowed him to embrace her briefly. Then, she thumbed towards the closed door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you certain you’re doing the right thing with her? Attachment, and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco shook his head in frustration. Of course, she was right to ask it. It was in their training, it had been drilled into them throughout: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Unspeakable wizards and witches do not have the luxury of personal relationships.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he said finally. “But I’ll probably go to Azkaban, anyway. She’ll forget about me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is the court so stacked against you?” Pansy asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The only wizard willing to speak on my behalf is Weasley,” Draco scoffed. “As such… it’s not looking good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you ask her to do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco pressed his mouth into a firm line and shook his head. “Out of the question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, for Salazar’s sake?” Pansy threw up her hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because!” he spat through gritted teeth. “She’ll have to see me in shackles, and then watch them haul me off when it’s not enough! I won’t do that to her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a bloody fool,” she said. Then, she poked him in the chest with one of her talons. Hard. “When you’re done babying her--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--maybe you’ll see that she is strong. She can handle much more than you realize. She could be your best chance for absolution.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco gave her a hard look. “I have to surrender to the court on the twenty-fifth. I hope you’ll be with her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If she asks me to.” Pansy turned away from him and straightened her blouse. She had clearly reached her threshold with him. “When you’re quite ready, join us downstairs. It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>surprise.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She didn’t give him a moment to reply, but that was just as well; he didn’t know what else to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The latch on the door popped, and Hermione peeked out of the room. She wore a pink dress, which swirled around her legs prettily. It wasn’t the thing for an autumn evening, but she was magnificent in it, and he wasn’t about to discourage her. He needed to apologize. She held out her hand to him. When he offered it, she pressed something into his palm, something small. He frowned and inspected the little thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a thin silver band, with a tiny round garnet. Draco looked up at her in question. Hermione pulled her wand from her sleeve and flicked it. From the tip, a silver rope wound itself through the ring and closed again, leaving a puddle of smooth metal against his skin. She picked up the necklace, which made a cool hiss as it unraveled, and held it up. She had strung her mother’s ring on a chain. And she was holding it out to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is this?” he asked, bending down so she could loop it around his neck. She unfastened the top button of his shirt to conceal the gift beneath it. The metal was icy against his clavicle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I choose you,” she said. “You’ll wear my mother’s ring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brushed her temple with the back of his knuckles. “You don’t need to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a token,” she said. Then, she inclined her head up to kiss him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, he murmured. “I’m not ashamed of you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione’s cheeks were pink, at that. She wound her arms around his neck and held fast. “Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I could say it,” he admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled. It wasn’t even a sad smile--just a kind, forgiving grin, which created dimples at the corners of her mouth. “Come on. I’m hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they rounded the corner of the dining room, the whole place was awash in candle light. Tiny paper snowflakes hung in the air, just out of reach, and the table was set for a small feast. Their friends--Harry, Hannah, Ron with Freddie, Imelda, and Pansy--stood behind the table with a few of the women who had felt comfortable enough to speak with Hermione over the last few days. There were several wrapped packages, and at the head of the table, a tiara made of paper, perched on the birthday girl’s plate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy birthday, Hermione,” Hannah said. Hermione’s hands immediately went to her mouth, which made all those gathered smile in delight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t!” she gasped. “This is too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense,” Harry said. “You thought we’d forget about the most important day in any of our lives? The day Hermione Jean Granger was born? You’re barmy.” A happy chirp twittered to their right, and Hermione cackled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Achilles? Sweet boy, I’ve been so worried about you!” She snuggled the owl as much as he would allow, and gave him affectionate pets to the beak until he nipped at her lovingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t go back to Hogwarts without him,” Ron said. He glanced at Draco and nodded once. He must’ve made a trip to her cottage to retrieve the bird and check on the wards. As ill-advised as such a trip was, Draco couldn’t help but be grateful on Hermione’s behalf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione shook her head in utter disbelief. When she was finally able to speak, she was tearful. “I hope you’ll all join me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hugged each and every person gathered, and graciously took the paper crown when it was offered. Her bird perched on the back of her chair. Draco watched her from the doorway as the people who cared about her most handed her gifts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he did get sent away… she would be alright. There would be people to care for her, to love her… he needn’t worry. Someone would catch her, because Hermione Granger had a way of cultivating relationships that lasted. She didn’t love by halves. Draco turned away from the throng for a moment as sadness hit him square in the chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she’d visit, or send him little notes. Or, maybe, she’d eventually find someone else who could make her happy. Not love her, but keep her content. He would spend the rest of his days hoping she was happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione’s voice called him back again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco!” She patted the empty seat beside her. He dutifully sat. The presents she had received were trinkets, a Kestrels scarf from Harry, and crafts made by the children (who had also cut out the paper snowflakes with some help from Ron), as well as a sloppy kiss on the cheek from Freddie, who had decided in that exact moment that Hermione was her second favorite person after her father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When supper had been eaten (a fine spaghetti dinner, which was apparently Hermione’s favorite), Draco found himself watching several joyous conversations unfold, but couldn’t bring himself to join in any of them. Pansy’s dilemma weighed heavily at the back of his mind. It took him back to the days when the Manor was crawling with Death Eaters, when they couldn’t breathe without permission from men like Carrow. And now, here they were, once again experiencing the disintegration of the Wizarding world as they knew it. Would this happen every ten years? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something dark swirled in him, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d pay, every last one of them. If he had to do it himself, if he had to sacrifice himself to take every last Death Eater down… there would be nothing left of them when Draco Malfoy was done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A golden moth perched on the declaration like a lantern. She wasn’t looking at him, but Hermione’s fingers had crept to his knee. He took her hand, savoring the feather-soft skin, and threaded his fingers with hers. Her moth remained, wings at attention, showing the underside to him for the first time since she came to him in his mind. The dark and seelie pattern of her wings felt familiar and yet even as he tried to study it, the shapes shifted. He drew closer. In a flash, the wings closed, almost in a warning, and he could swear that on the moth’s back, where the wings met the downy fuzz, she bore a skull.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not without me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her voice carried like a bolt, and her nails dug into his knuckles hard enough to draw blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights dimmed in the dining room, and a small cake was produced for Hermione with far too many candles. A rather terrible rendition of Happy Birthday was sung, and the candles were snuffed out. He barely tasted the chocolate on his tongue. Instead, his heart raced in time with hers, and he made a private vow, whispered across a dark sea, that he would follow her to the end.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Join me to chat on Tumblr at TheSuperJane.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>One last birthday delivery for Hermione brings a blow unlike any other. The bond brings a new danger.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>I wish for…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever is a woman to wish for on her twenty-ninth birthday? There were many things to want, but the things she needed felt oddly specific, and not the sort of thing one could wish for over a birthday cake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let the warmth from the candles lap at her cheeks. Draco’s hand tightened on hers. Each face which glowed in the dim light inspired their own wish… for herself, for them, for the desperate need to make it her next birthday without losing anyone else. So, she wished.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For slow mornings in bed with no place to go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To find each woman who’s missing, and a home for them to take refuge.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For Christmas with mum.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For exoneration for him--</span>
  </em>
  <span> at this, Draco’s head fell to his chest and he suddenly became occupied with rubbing his chin. She pushed a little more.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For love that death can’t touch, and the admission of it freely offered.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco kissed the back of their clasped hands. It felt like an apology, but she gave it no credence other than a squeeze of the hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be of no importance, to mean little--except to people who love me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For safety for these dear people.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For Freddie to have her mother back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A funeral for Justin.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For sleep without nightmares.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She blew out the candles and hoped that the smoke gave rise to her wishes. When she had felt Draco’s thoughts diverge before the cake was produced, she had asserted her terms of his vendetta against the Jawless, and the remaining UnEaten. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not. Without. Me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She meant it. There would be no throwing himself in Carrow’s path to save her. If they would not have quiet mornings with nowhere to be but a bed of rumpled sheets, they would have the shadows, side-by-side, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no matter what.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She wasn’t giving him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea that he might do something stupid--forget himself, take her for granted, leave her behind--made her radiate with an unfamiliar anger. Then, she realized it was rippling across the black water of awareness. It wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>hers </span>
  </em>
  <span>to hold, but she felt it all the same. He wouldn’t have to carry it without her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cake was heavenly. Hannah had outdone herself, and Hermione had eaten more than she ought; it felt indulgent to have such a gorgeous chocolate confection in the middle of such a fraught time. Hermione stood with a finality, which felt one part ceremony and one part definite </span>
  <em>
    <span>ending</span>
  </em>
  <span> to an otherwise wonderful evening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you all. Thank you. I hope we may come together for many more birthdays.” She looked down at Draco, and then to Ron, and then to Harry and the rest. “I find we’ve lost too many, and… I can’t bear to lose anyone else. I hope the gala will be a success, and that we find Hogwarts a welcome refuge--that McGonagall’s inquisition roots out the rest. And that we may be… safe. That isn’t too much to ask for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannah held out her arms to Hermione. Hermione leaned into her embrace. “I wish Justin was here,” Mrs. Finch-Fletchley confided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm. Me too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A piercing shock rang out. Through the window of the dining room, by desperate design, came a raven the size of a small terrier, on the wings of a spell and not by its own efforts. The throng lept back from the table in shock. It had a delivery, that was certain. The sight of it...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione stared down at the bird, which, upon delivering its parcel, had perished among the discarded tissue wrappings. Poor creature. A raven, with voids where eyes had once been. It had a partial beak; the bottom jaw of the bird was missing, and the raven’s feathers were tattered. It was a sickly thing. Achilles chirped in indignation from the chandelier, where he had fled upon the arrival of the interloper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The raven’s final act had been splintering the dining room window in a shower of glass. If Hermione hadn’t stood to hug Hannah in thanks for the delicious cake, she would’ve been littered in shards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poor thing,” she breathed. Of its own volition, her hand lifted as if to help it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Step away.” Draco tugged at her elbow, but she yanked her arm away from him. “Get the kid out of here, Weasley.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron handed the child to Imelda with a curt nod; the woman quickly shuffled her from the room. “What the hell is it?” Ron scoffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A raven,” Hermione sighed sadly. “It looks sick--” Draco’s hands grasped Hermione again, this time at her shoulders, and he pulled her behind him. Shielding her. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t know what it might do.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not a child!</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She wrenched herself away from him. That anger, his anger, still sat with her. A pang shot through their bond, but she ignored it. She pressed herself against the back of her chair. It seemed impossible, that a bird had been able to find her, that it was dead-on-arrival… that they had for one second thought that her birthday could be a night of joy. Instead, Harry cleared the present debris with a strategic </span>
  <em>
    <span>accio!</span>
  </em>
  <span> from around the beast, and they all stared at the thing in horror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>well,” Hannah said softly. Murmurs circled the table, but none made a real move for the dead corvid, save Pansy. With the tip of her wand, she poked the belly. With a sickening squelch, the feathers deposited something on the table with a string of viscerae attached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron carded a hand over his forehead. “Bloody hell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Hermione tried to lean forward to get a better look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful,” Draco warned. He wrapped his arm around her with little care for how onlookers might take his stance. She covered her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pansy had found some sort of hidden release, which made the bird’s belly flop open and reveal a gristly delivery. It was a finger, make no mistake. The appendage had chipping trademark </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rita-Rose</span>
  </em>
  <span> nail polish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d know that shade anywhere,” Ron sighed. “They’ve got to Skeeter, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She may be yet saved.” Hannah worried her hands, and Harry patted her shoulder as if to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re a fool, but it’s nice of you to say.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you tell if she was still alive when it was severed?” Draco asked, which made Hermione look up at him in abject horror. Only Draco would think to ask such a question. He raised an eyebrow at her. It was an honest question, and one they had better glean the answer to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pansy leaned forward. “There isn’t a drop of blood in it. It doesn’t look good for her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you be sure?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look Pansy gave Ronald was enough to make all the blood in his body rush into his cheeks. She pointed to the sleeve, which loosely dangled from her shoulder, which only made him cough in embarrassment, but that gesture was mostly for effect. Pansy’s own amputation had been so severe, so dire, that the tissue was already dead. This was different. This appendage did not have to be removed because it was killing the owner. This was a warning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Ron coughed, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>personal experience--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me. If that finger was cut off when she was alive, the tissue and veins would still be viable for a short time as long as there was still blood present in the finger. That is one dead digit.” Pansy wrinkled her nose, and levitated the finger to better examine it. “Clean cut though. She definitely wasn’t conscious. My money is on </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Harry touched his chin. “I told her to be careful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know that she wasn’t,” Pansy spat. “Just because she’s dead, it doesn’t mean she didn’t try. Besides, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one who dragged her into this--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough! It’s Rita Skeeter’s finger. We know that much. I agree with Pansy; she’s probably dead,” Hermione huffed. “It’s no one’s fault, but it is a shame.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a flick, Pansy dropped Skeeter’s finger into the pocket of her blazer without hesitation. Ron’s eyes widened and he exchanged a look with Harry that could only come from muscle memory as teens. Their faces belied a sentiment like: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have no idea what’s happening, but she’s scary.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Separate from the digit, which could only have been fed to the raven before its death, there was a newspaper tied to its leg. Pansy untied the twine and cautiously opened the curled periodical. It was a copy of the Daily Prophet, but there was also a note on white parchment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The note was sealed in black wax. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pansy ripped her hand away immediately, but Hermione launched forward. Draco held fast to her. She struggled in vain against his hold. He virtually ignored her. He flicked his wand and the paper rose above the table, unfurling to reveal the front page of the Daily Prophet. This time, instead of a wordy headline, there was simply one word: </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>WANTED.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The accompanying photo featured Hermione, as she stood outside Gringotts, willing Draco to remain upright, face plastered with determination and panic in equal measure--and it looked as if the photograph had been taken from across the street, from a shop. She watched as her face transformed from concern to despair as Draco’s knees buckled. Over and over again. The loop was horribly short. His hand flexed on her waist in quiet comfort, but Hermione’s heart lurched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s dated for tomorrow,” she murmured. Draco rotated the paper so they all could examine it without touching the thing. Sure enough, </span>
  <em>
    <span>September 20th</span>
  </em>
  <span> glinted in black ink below the title</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Strangely, the text surrounding the photograph was utter gibberish. So, too, was the rest of the paper. The front page story was set, however. They wanted Hermione. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>was tomorrow’s headline, and she was fair game.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Pansy severed the black wax on the white note, and the paper sprung to life like a howler, settling on the head of the dead raven like a crown. The paper mouthed the words within, like gasping breath over pursed teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice was like gravel.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I see you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Happy last birthday, Mudblood. I couldn’t put a finger on what you might like as a gift, but Rita Skeeter seemed more than willing to provide. Hope you like it. It was the least we could do on short notice. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Make a wish!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Protego!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Pansy screamed, as the bird ruptured from the head--first smoke, billowing from its eyes, and then flames, licking the edges of her shielding spell. “Get. Out!” She gritted her teeth to compress the bomb. Hannah peeled out of the dining room. She could be heard shouting in Russian, and the patter of feet thundered up the stairs from the basement. Harry nodded to Draco and suddenly, Hermione’s feet were no longer on the ground. Over the hulking blond’s shoulder, Pansy struggled against the waves of energy, but Ron joined her with his wand in hand. Together, they held back the threatening fire which would not be extinguished. The red-head glanced back at her as her protector pulled her towards the hearth, and then Harry came along behind, ushering the women and their children to the grand fireplace in the front sitting room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was eerily silent except for panicked breathing. Draco set Hermione on her feet in the fireplace, and stood aside to make way for others to join her. He threw a handful of floo powder at their feet and someone--though she couldn’t be sure--said the name of their destination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a flash, Hermione stumbled out of the hearth into a large office. Harry was quick to follow with several others, but they were still missing Draco, Hannah, Pansy, and Ron. Imelda bounced Freddie on her hip; the little girl was blissfully unaware of the danger at hand, sucking on her fist and cooing up at her temporary guardian. Harry put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders, and held her close. Time passed so slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re coming, ‘Mione.” He smoothed a hand over her back, and then he was gone, reaching out a hand to scoop a baby from the arms of a younger woman--Joia--who was doubled over in fear. Before she could second-guess herself, Hermione knelt at her side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re safe,” Hermione whispered, though she did not believe it, and could not support the idea with an ounce of evidence. Still, the woman nodded, but she clutched Hermione’s hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hogwarts--the Headmistress’ office--was exactly as she had left it, and it felt impersonal; all those years ago, fighting and then returning for one last year, to heal, to learn… it looked just as it always had. Indeed, perhaps the great castle had been built that way, to look-lived in and storied, with massive portraits of witches and wizards who no longer had any influence over the place. The dust was still three point two three eighths of a centimeter thick. The moonlight still fought against the patterned glass, which was too busy to see through and too smooth to give any privacy. It could be occupied by anyone and fit them as if created for them, and yet accommodate even the least sentimental of Headmasters. It was devoid of its current occupant, who was surely on her way </span>
  <em>
    <span>as they waited,</span>
  </em>
  <span> from wherever she was, be it her personal rooms in the great school, or in London to be close to the Ministry. At least, she would be, as soon as she heard what a ruckus had come to her beloved school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All it took to bring them there was a birthday card from the enemy, and a cruel facsimile of fireworks. They scattered, they fled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what was taking Draco so bloody long? He just… thrust her into the fire, so to speak, and to the other side. It had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>words directing them to Hogwarts. She wanted to throttle him for deciding without her consent. She would have a lot to say, if only he would come through the fire! Four adults would fit in the last round. Four adults they waited on. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come on. Come through, Pansy, Ron. Come on, Hannah. For the love of Merlin, Draco Lucius Malfoy… come through. Please. I need you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The fire flared once again, but only Hannah and Draco came through. His gaze was dark, but he had Hannah by the elbow. His stupid black pack was slung over his shoulder. When his eyes found Hermione, Draco narrowed his eyes. Bad news. She catapulted herself at them, to him, but when she threw a handful of floo powder at the stone… it lay there, dormant. The floo was closed. Shut off. He cupped her nape to comfort her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither Pansy or Ron had followed. She pressed her forehead to the hard plane of his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Hermione breathed. “Say they’re apparating, they’re on their way--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The wards contained the worst of the fire,” Hannah announced to the group, “but the house can’t be saved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione crumbled in Draco’s arms, and he kept her from collapsing. “They got out, I’m sure of it,” he muttered against her temple. “But Achilles… I couldn’t get him. He wouldn’t come to me. I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard him, but she didn’t understand. Achilles. Her sweet owl… she had nearly forgotten him, and only just got him back because Ron went </span>
  <em>
    <span>all the way</span>
  </em>
  <span> to her cottage for the beloved pet. But he wouldn’t go to Draco. Why not? Were his wings too weak--was he hurt? He was confused, surely. Maybe he went with Ron, when Ron got out. Or Pansy. The sweet young boy, he didn’t know who he could trust. He had to be alright.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They… they</span>
  </em>
  <span> had to be safe. Pansy and Ron could still send word, or apparate to Hogsmeade and walk up… couldn’t they?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even as the possibilities of it rose in her throat, Hermione felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>rage </span>
  </em>
  <span>overtake a propensity for tears, which would have overwhelmed her on any other day. Wearing his anger like armor felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>delicious</span>
  </em>
  <span> compared to huddling in passive sadness. He wasn’t hiding it like usual. It rippled over her skin. He hummed a warning, but she paid him no heed. Anger meant action. She was going to find them, and he couldn’t stop her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione ripped herself from his embrace and tore out the office. She could’ve slid the entire length of the spiral staircase and hardly been aware of the stone beneath her feet as her skirt swirled around her legs. He pursued her, of course, but she dodged beneath the wing of the great eagle statue as it unfurled itself to the familiar hallway. Hermione turned a sharp right. The force of his body slamming into hers stole her breath. He gripped her hips so tight they would bruise, and hauled her behind a tapestry they both knew concealed a private alcove, though neither would ever admit to how well they knew the secret hiding place. Still, he caged her in his grip as she thrashed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were attacked,” he said breathlessly. “They fought, but Weasley sent us through and said they would seal the floo from that side. Hermione--</span>
  <em>
    <span>blood hell!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fingers seared him like a hot poker to the wrist and he dropped her immediately. She froze. He stared at his arms, which bore red welts in the shape of her slender fingers and curved nails. She hurt him. She ate up his fury like sin, and spat it back out like fire and vitriol. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>burned him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When finally he could bring himself to meet her eyes, he was stricken. His grey eyes were dark pools, with glass tears threatening at the corners. The ocean between them, as she reached out inside, fell away. Draco stepped back until his back met granite.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought. She extended her hands to him, but Draco didn’t move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you do?” he asked, like a man who had never known her at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know!” Her voice echoed off the stones. The clash of her pain against her act was striking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Draco sank to a squat, and smothered his face with his hands. He scrubbed his face, he stared at her unblinking, he shook his head a million times. Finally, he held out a hand to her. When she was within arm’s reach, he snatched her wrist and held her hand up to the shard of light from a dim sconce, just outside the tapestry. Her skin was smooth. Her fingers were peachy pink as always, though they curled inwards in shame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled her fingers to his mouth, prepared for the bite… when it didn’t come, he cradled her hand against his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t give in,” he rasped, desperately. “I’ve come to an agreement with my anger over almost three decades, but it’s seductive. I’ll keep the weight of it from you as best as I can. I will hold your pain, but you can’t give space in your heart for my rage. Do you hear me?” He yanked her until her knees clashed against the stone with a crack. She cried out, and he swallowed her pained cry with his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he released her, it was because a hot tear splashed her cheek. It was his. “Are you alright?” he asked. She apologized for burning him with gentle caresses to his forearms, even as he nipped at her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione bowed her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span> For the first time in weeks, she felt an emotion with clarity. Why was his fury so perfect?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! Join me on tumblr at TheSuperJane to chat.</p><p>**I'll be on a brief hiatus until Mid-December as I transition to a new job! Both this story and Obstinate, Headstrong Girl will be updated on December 15th.**</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Headmistress McGonagall gets the full story, Harry and Draco come to an understanding adjacent to brotherhood, and Draco holds a baby.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! Remember me? It's been a moment since we've last spoken.  I am in the middle of transitioning to my new job and it's been insane--which naturally meant writing my longest chapter so far, far ahead of my planned posting date (December 15th--oops).  This is a transitional chapter (with our very exhausted, very rundown heroes), which will set us up for a run of action. I hope you'll stick with me if you can!</p><p>Sidenote: Thank you for loving this strange and wonderful hobby that we share! I know you don't have to read my little story, and I thank you for doing so. SO MUCH LOVE.</p><p>In payment for your love, I give you Draco holding a baby.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When fire explodes, it does so because it has fuel to burn--something to feed it. To shape it. To drive it to burn. </p><p>But when <em> fiendfyre </em> un-tethers from a wand, or… a bomb, as it were, it seeks to multiply and prosper. Hotter and hotter. Licking at everything which might catch. Daring paper not to curl at the edges, and the tips of hair not to singe, and in this case--eating away at the corpse of a bird which had carried a disease of information and <em> heat. </em> </p><p>He lifted Hermione. She was not meant to be tinder. Over his shoulder--to the fireplace, with floo powder at her feet, pleading with him to come in just the expression of her eyes, but he sent her away without a thought for anything but keeping her from it. The flames lapped against the barrier held back by a woman with one arm, and a wizard who couldn’t love enough to love his <em> Hermione. </em> But they made a heady team, compressing the magical explosion. Shimmering figures in silver masks appeared on the other side of the heat mirage.</p><p>He pushed the other small woman beside him, the one who had called this smoldering place home with her husband, who had been killed by wizards such as <em> those. </em> Her fist connected with his back. She hit him. Hard. Over and over, until her wand came into view and a blast of energy shot from her. <em> Merlin’s ghost. Hannah’s got power. </em></p><p>The fire dampened enough for Pansy and her ginger guard to step out of the dining room, out of the way of the robed men, who had their wands drawn. </p><p>What channel did she listen to, again? Ah… a lower frequency than his sweet, abiding Hermione. A base plane of controlled instincts and courage. He sought her out with his cool flames. </p><p>The arrow’s point was sharp and ready to pearce, but she knew him.</p><p><em> You know how I feel about mind games, Draco. Creepy. </em>But the arrow waivered, even as she warmed herself in the concern of his determined blue flicker.</p><p>
  <em> Hold onto his arm. I’ll punch through so you can get out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Fucking reckless-- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You’ll have one chance. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Where? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hogwarts-- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They’ll track us. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then don’t fucking tell me, just get as far away as you can, and send a message when you’re safe. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Like the old days? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Yes. Except this time… no allegiance to blood. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Only to the people we love. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You better survive, Parkinson. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Do it. </em>
</p><p>Her silhouette was barely visible now, as the fiendfyre wove around the both of the casters, two of the truest allies Draco Malfoy had ever known. Her head snapped to him. Her irises were black. The wisps of her hair hung around her face. The red-haired man never turned to look at him. Her lips moved, Weasley clung to her waist immediately.</p><p>Draco grasped Hannah’s wrist, her wand-bearing hand, and forced her to mimic his hand movements as he traced the ward-piercing runes, which had been endowed to him from the oral tradition of Unspeakables. When the wards snapped, he took one step back into the hearth, wielded a handful of floo powder, and watched the snap of disapparation as his dearest friend and a man who meant too much <em> escaped. </em></p><p>Hannah clung to him and pointed her wand at the stones beneath their feet.</p><p>“I’ll close the floo!” </p><p>As their destination crossed his lips and the green light blazed, the medi-witch cast <em> bombarda-- </em>the Jawless within their line of sight were thrown into the path of the supping fire.</p><p> </p><p>* * * </p><p> </p><p>Minerva McGonagall didn’t look one minute older than she had back in the day; she was stately in her dressing robe and long grey braid. As Headmistress, she was afforded a grand office suite from which she could conduct any manner of business, at any hour of the day. Once she had discerned why so many people had come through her floo at such a late hour, she settled behind her large desk and waited for answers. She leaned back in the grand carved chair. Her fingers curled around the arms, and she shook her head. Her small eyeglasses reflected the gold light from her sconces as they flickered.</p><p>"No word from either Mister Weasley or Miss Parkinson."</p><p>"None." Potter’s voice wavered. "I sent a patronus, but I received nothing in reply."</p><p>"Shouldn't have," Draco grumbled.</p><p>The Boy Who Lived shrugged; he agreed with him, but his furrowed brow indicated an internal panic. "It's done."</p><p>"I saw them disapparate. </p><p>"I will send word to his brother," McGonagall sighed. "I'm certain the Assistant Minister will want to be aware."</p><p>"We're grateful you're willing to let us shelter here." Potter sat up, straight and attentive. </p><p>"As difficult as it is for some of us to return." Draco couldn't help it. The woman before them never showed an ounce of concern for him as a boy, and that was partly his own fault. Still, it was to her credit that she didn't banish him from the castle. Perhaps that wasn't her nature. Perhaps, over all the years since he had been in her class, she had come to acknowledge that even <em> he </em>contained complexities. </p><p>That, or she was good at hiding her disdain.</p><p>"I shouldn't be speaking with you." She peered at Draco over her frames. "If my latest briefing is any indication, I'm meant to be presiding over your sentencing in a matter of days, Mister Malfoy, a hearing which will decide whether you see the cliffs of Azkaban once again. I understand both your parents are dead--"</p><p>"Unspeakable Malfoy isn't on trial, now," Potter urged. Her gaze slid to his.</p><p>"The two of you here. Friends, even."</p><p>"He's been integral to helping them." Potter pointed to the outer rooms of her office where Hermione was waiting with Hannah, Imelda, Freddie, and the rest. "And as I said--" He clapped Draco's shoulder, hard enough that Draco was shaken out of his own annoyance with the woman, if not still defensive. <em> "Draco </em> isn't on trial." He dropped his hand, and sat forward, with his arms braced on his knees.</p><p>Huh. Even <em> Potter </em> had surprises up his sleeve. Draco had to admit--Potter’s support felt, at almost one in the morning, like an invaluable tool. And he had to admit--after facing fiendfyre, Draco wasn’t up to much.</p><p><em> You’ve earned support, my love. </em> </p><p>Hermione kept doing that… fawning. Sending him little messages. Little touches of affection. She felt terrible about burning him, and worse about missing their friends, and she spiralled between positivity and concern. But Potter’s words compounded with Hermione’s anxiety felt a bit choking, and far too centered on <em> him </em> than on their purpose at Hogwarts.</p><p>McGonagall seemed to pay no mind to Potter’s words, which belied a certain protectiveness over his former adversary. "So. The little brief which has shaken our school into lockdown is true. I imagine I can guess who amongst you wrote the report."</p><p>"You may be sure the Matryoshka Brief is as factual as it is dire," Potter said. "Those women in your waiting room were all taken from Russia by John MacAfee."</p><p>"They're all Muggle-born," she inferred. </p><p>Potter nodded. "All have been stripped of their wands, separated from their spouses and families. Many of them held titles within the Konsulstvo Magii. They want to go home, to know the other women and children are safe."</p><p>"Not to be persecuted because they're Muggle-born," Draco growled. "Not to be preyed upon by men they trusted. Not to be treated like they are the cause of the collapse of the Ministry, but the victims." His fingers curled into fists, and Hermione's golden moth fluttered between his ears, alighting on his restrained anger.</p><p>"It is a miraculous thing indeed to hear you vouch for Muggle-borns in such a way." McGonagall's mouth was pursed. "Why isn't Miss Granger part of this conversation? Surely, she has the best perspective on what's at stake."</p><p>Heat flared up his spine and he tried to push it down, for her sake. Potter seemed to sense the shift and scoffed.</p><p>"Hermione is not the spokes-witch for all Muggle-borns. And she's asked not to speak with you until morning, if that's alright. She's had a trying day."</p><p>"She would hate to be pitied," Draco groaned. The moth folded her wings and nestled in. She didn’t feel upset, more like she was trying to help him find purchase in his own sense of calm. It was better to move the conversation away from Hermione, for both their sake. "The women and children will be safer here than the alternative, if the attack at the Finch-Fletchley's is any indicator."</p><p>"They are welcome here as long as need be, no need to worry about that." McGonagall dismissed the thought. "I wonder what the two of you believe you must do to help them. Certainly not sitting idly by."</p><p>"We had planned, prior to this evening, to host a gala for the Hungarian relief efforts on the twenty-fourth, with the design of coaxing the remaining Jawless (and perhaps our missing Ministry-men) out of hiding." Potter’s eyes tracked to Draco as if he had agreed to it. "With Rita Skeeter presumed dead--"</p><p>"We'll have it at Malfoy Manor." Both McGonagall and Potter turned their shocked faces to Draco. It had come to him almost immediately, and he felt the approval of his little moth spy at such a brazen suggestion. </p><p>"You're no longer the steward--"</p><p>"No, but my Barrister is very likely to agree, and what better place to draw in the Jawless, than the mecca of their misdeeds?" Draco crossed his ankle over his knee. "One of them has been accepted by the wards. They were known to my family, which means their pride would be ruffled if Harry Potter wanted to throw a charity 'do in a sacred institution of their cause. Besides... Hermione left her bag, and I'd like to get it back for her." The shock on the Headmistress' face filled him with such a sense of accomplishment that Draco preened to once again catch Minerva McGonagall off guard. Hermione hovered in that space of pride. </p><p>
  <em> What do you think? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Do you have to ask, Draco? </em>
</p><p>Potter carded a hand through his hair in bafflement. "Mate, that's brilliant."</p><p>"I rather thought so."</p><p>
  <em> Sure you did. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hush. </em>
</p><p>"Quite an undertaking to plan a gala in four days," McGonagall said, though her tone didn't seem to indicate that she thought it a bad idea.</p><p>Potter nodded. "If we could rely on your help, perhaps--"</p><p>"The Ministry cannot be involved," Draco asserted. </p><p>"I'm inclined to agree with Mister Malfoy on this point, considering the amount of scrutiny they--we-- are under. But, I could arrange for an undercover auror presence. Undersecretary Weasley has been eager to take action while the Minister is missing--"</p><p>Draco scoffed. "Former. Minister."</p><p>Her eyes narrowed. "Yes. So, we might find him helpful in any case."</p><p>"We will handle arrangements for the gala." Potter indicated himself and Draco, "if you can help us try to track down the remaining women and children. Justin Finch-Fletchley believed they were either being hidden in Porth Wen, Wales, Sanderson Mills in Sussex, or..." He huffed. "The Love Chamber in the Department of Mysteries."</p><p>"Good gods," the Headmistress coughed. "What credence can you give to such a claim, Unspeakable Malfoy?"</p><p>"If it is the case, I am unaware. My work takes me outside Mysteries, for the most part."</p><p>"Who do you answer to?"</p><p>"Myself."</p><p>"You have a <em> supervising </em>minister--"</p><p>Draco held up a hand. "My assignments are delivered to me via owl, I operate alone, and the Unspeakable witches and wizards I <em> do </em>come into contact with are as ignorant of my machinations as I am of theirs. Were I assigned to the Hall of Prophecies, or the Love Chamber, I may have more frequent... coworkers. But I'm not, so I don't."</p><p>She nodded in resignation. "I see. Just what is it you've done to become involved in all this, Mister Malfoy?"</p><p>
  <em> Why is she pushing you like this? </em>
</p><p>Draco didn't know what to say. Best not to lead with 'I'm screwing the author of the Matryoshka Brief,' even if that was the plain truth, without the nuance of being smitten with Hermione Granger, so much so that thinking about her made his heart clench in a vice. </p><p>
  <em> Don’t I deserve it? What have I done to garner her trust, Hermione? Well?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ever so many things. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Let us not pursue it, now-- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then tell McGonagall about the prophecy, Draco.  </em>
</p><p>He blanched. <em> Are you certain? </em></p><p>
  <em> Her knowing could work in your favor at your trial, and speak to your character. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She's in doubt of me-- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She is as worried about the state of things as we are, but she doesn't know you like I do. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I won't wield you like a white flag, Hermione. I won't.  </em>
</p><p>A knock echoed through the inner office. Draco pressed his fingers to his forehead. <em> Don't do this, you've had a long day-- </em></p><p>"Headmistress?" her gentle voice floated through the wood and Draco's stomach sank.</p><p>"Come in, Miss Granger." The old witch's mouth turned up as Hermione's face appeared around the door. Draco didn't hear her step behind his chair, but her small hands fell on his shoulders, and she projected a wave of affection so heady that his cheeks flushed.</p><p>"Have they told you about the prophecy?" Hermione asked softly. She kneaded his shoulder.</p><p>"We thought we'd leave it to you," Potter said. They hadn't spoken of such a thing. None of them had broached the idea of making it known, and yet, if someone should be allowed to explain, it was her.</p><p>"May I speak with Miss Granger alone?" The Headmistress folded her arms. </p><p>Potter stood, but Hermione kept a firm grasp on Draco's shoulder. "Draco stays."</p><p>She gave Potter a soft smile, and he grazed her arm as he sidled past her. Hermione sat in the unoccupied chair, and crossed her knees to mimic Draco's posture. Then, she set her hand on his forearm. She was glowing in the lamplight.</p><p>"What's this about a prophecy?" McGonagall's tone had softened. She leaned forward with her hands clasped on her desk.</p><p>"Narcissa Malfoy foretold that I would bring down the Ministry," Hermione began, "which has proven to be a catalyst for much of the action I have taken since I discovered that Ministry officials had been corrupted. Draco has been helping to keep me safe--" she brushed his arm, directly over the burn marks in his skin, which she herself had created-- "and in turn, made it possible for..." </p><p>Her voice faded into a quiet hum, and Draco retreated inward. </p><p>What he wouldn't give to be in his bedroom at the Manor with her once again, cradling her forever in the endless stretch between dusk and dawn. In that house which had been the forum of harm, erasing every single bit of it by letting her pull him into a new era of his life--one in which he wasn't being questioned for his motives, anticipating sentencing, fighting once more to step out of his father's shadow. One in which he meant something to someone, when he didn't have to be pardoned by each person who had ever seen him do wrong, because the woman he... cared for most slept beside him nightly. Was it so selfish to wish they had come together some other manner than by a prophecy?</p><p>Was it so selfish to hope for clemency from the Headmistress because it would make Hermione happy? Why did he need it, anyway? Suddenly, he felt it was a mistake for anyone to know about the prophecy at all. If only it could be a precious story of how the little golden moth saved him from himself.</p><p>His mind tracked to his fellow Unspeakable--how Pansy had sworn she must return to Carrow, and promising she wouldn't. He hoped she was safe. Gods, but it was choking to worry so very much about so many people. In many ways, he had been fortunate to worry only for his mother, back when Death Eaters ran the Manor. Now, he had people to lose. And Ron. It would kill Hermione if he was dead. It would be the end of them both.</p><p>And the fiendfyre had <em> wanted them, </em> so desperately that it had clung to fireproof stone and reached out with lethal tendrils… they had made it out. He believed that. Above all else, they had to be <em> alive. </em></p><p>He was brought back by Hermione lacing her fingers with his. "...all we're asking is that you use your considerable influence to help find those women and children," Hermione insisted. "We can only do so much without you."</p><p>The Headmistress nodded, and her hand prodded her cheek as she thought over what Hermione had told her while he was lost in dreams. </p><p>"I don't know that I can get you access to the Love Chamber, if it is being used as such. With how tenuous things are at the Ministry, I cannot see the Secret Keepers making way for the Wizengamot to investigate matters. At least, not yet. But, I can arrange for aurors to be sent to Sussex and Wales. The Inquisitorial committee is set to convene tomorrow, well," she glanced at the clock on her desk, "today, as it were. With Mister Potter's support, a consensus will likely be reached. Once we've approved the measure, I will send an owl. We must act without delay."</p><p>"We will be going to Wales." Hermione was certain, but that was something she must have decided on her own when he and Potter were in with McGonagall, when she was <em> pestering him </em> in his head. Still... of course he would go. </p><p>"I don’t dare try to stop you," the Headmistress chuckled. "If it is as dire as you say that you remain alive in order to bring these... Jawless... to heed, then I advise you to take care. The last thing we need is for you to martyr yourself for Amycus Carrow." She stood, and smoothed her long velvet robe, which swirled down from her wrists in a shimmer of fabric. "I hope our combined efforts will see the discovery of your missing women, not to mention Ron Weasley and Pansy Parkinson safely returned to your company."</p><p>"One thing," Draco said. "When Weasley agreed to keep me at heel, he took an Unbreakable Vow with Shacklebolt that I would be safe until my trial."</p><p>"Did he?" McGonagall's face twisted with an unfamiliar expression: <em> pity. </em> </p><p>"Now that Shacklebolt has disgraced himself, the consequences of a broken oath could be serious."</p><p>"Mister Malfoy... as an Unspeakable, surely you know much about deep magic, like spells which are tracked by the DMLE. But there is one point upon which an Unbreakable Vow is firm: whoever breaks it will die. When you were hurt, as Miss Granger detailed... was Mister Weasley killed?"</p><p>"He felt no effects, other than brotherly concern," Hermione confirmed. Draco gawked at her in surprise. Huh. Weasley thought of him like a brother? The realization of endearment bloomed in his chest. Draco felt choked by the thought of never seeing the likes of Ron Weasley again, to thank him. </p><p>"Well, then. It seems to me that the Vow was not completed, perhaps by design--on the part of either party. Maybe the brotherly concern Miss Granger spoke of compelled Mister Weasley to protect you in other ways." McGonagall came around her desk on Draco's side and paused, looming above him. He allowed himself to look at her even as he felt his inner teenager cowed by it. </p><p>"People in your life dote on you a great deal, Mister Malfoy. Enough to sabotage dark magic on your behalf. I cannot predict how your sentencing will go, and it would be <em> illegal </em>for me to pass judgment on you, now. Strictly off the record... it has been noted." He couldn't tell if he made it up in his mind, but he could've sworn that Minerva McGonagall winked at him.</p><p>Hermione uncrossed her legs. "Headmistress... tomorrow, another special edition of the Daily Prophet will be released. My photograph will be on the cover."</p><p>"A second part to your brief?"</p><p>Hermione shook her head. "No. The fiendfyre bomb that came through the window--the bird had a copy of the newspaper tied to its leg, and it was dated for tomorrow. The Jawless have control over the Prophet, and I would advise the Inquisitorial committee that it is not a reliable source for information, other than what was printed in the Matryoshka Brief."</p><p>"I would never take stock in the ramblings of a gossip machine such as the Daily Prophet," the older woman said wryly, "but I do appreciate the warning. I must insist again that you take pains to protect yourself, if the Jawless are going to name you public enemy number one."</p><p>Hermione nodded. "Unfortunately, it is unavoidable. As it is, we have so little time." </p><p>The Headmistress held out a hand to her, and she took it. "Then you must rest." </p><p>Once McGonagall had gone, Potter slipped back into the office. He had clearly been standing in the doorway, and his retreat was unnecessary. Still, he played his part.</p><p>"I must attend the Inquisition in a few hours," he said, concealing a yawn behind his hand. "After the committee has adjourned, I will remain at Hogwarts and plan the gala. I believe Professors Lovegood and Longbottom may be of some use to me in that regard."</p><p>"Oh!" Hermione put her hands over her mouth. "I forgot Luna's teaching Herbology now!"</p><p>"Allies abound," Potter smiled. "If I heard correctly, the two of you intend to go to Wales after all."</p><p>"Apparently I have a brother," Draco spat.</p><p>Hermione squeezed his hand. "Draco has lately come to the understanding that Ron is <em> fond </em>of him."</p><p>"Oh, mate. You should've heard him worrying about you when you were unconscious."</p><p>"Well." Draco reddened and coughed. </p><p>"We will go to Wales," Hermione said. "If Justin is correct, Sanderson Mills will be deserted, but there might be clues as to where they've gone, and the aurors can handle that, I have no doubt. If John MacAfee is in Porth Wen, I want to look him in the eye when he's caught."</p><p>"Let's reconvene here on the twenty-third, no matter what you've found. Prepare for the gala as a team."</p><p>"We won't be attending," Draco protested. </p><p>Hermione frowned. "We must." </p><p>"You'll have a red x on your back--"</p><p>She slipped her hand from his and stood. "It's not up for discussion. We're going to be there. That is when we end things." Hermione turned on her heel and left the office. Worse than that, she siphoned the shore of their connection away and put up her wall of occlusion. <em> Fantastic. </em></p><p>Draco scrubbed his face in utter frustration, exhaustion, the works. "Potter... can I ask you a question?"</p><p>"Shoot."</p><p>"How do you put up with her recklessly throwing herself into pursuits, at the potential cost of her life and livelihood?"</p><p>Potter patted his shoulder. "I just follow her into the fire, mate."</p><p>"Gryffindors. Surprised you both didn't go the way of the DMLE."</p><p>"And be a copper? Hardly. I've never been accused of following the rules, and I don't intend to start." Potter sat, mirroring Draco's reclined posture in the uncomfortable wooden chairs.</p><p>Draco glanced at the man. He had an exhausted hunch to his shoulders, but his eyes were still open and receptive. He had a strange quality of someone who might never sleep unless necessary. Like a squirrel. Suited a professional quidditch player. "So... you retired from quidditch once and for all?"</p><p>Potter chuckled. "Perhaps."</p><p>"I suppose you have the ability to choose, don't you."</p><p>"In some respects. Though, I wouldn't consider this task a choice."</p><p>"An obligation? Misplaced hero complex? Insistence on being always in the fray?"</p><p>Potter laughed again, and narrowed his eyes. His eyes darted to the open office door, but Hermione was well out of earshot and the hubbub in the next room was loud enough to prevent being overheard. "She's going to be alright--"</p><p>"No, she bloody well isn't." Draco rucked up his sleeve. "Look what I've done to her."</p><p>The other man blinked. "What am I looking at?"</p><p>"The <em>burns.</em> I opened her up to my anger and... she can't control it. I see it. What's going to happen when she can't fend it off anymore?"</p><p>"Are you... asking my opinion?"</p><p>Draco snorted. "Don't sound so pleased."</p><p>"What would she think to see you like this?"</p><p>"I don't know!" Draco scrubbed at his face. "She'd tell me I'm punishing myself for things out of my control."</p><p>"You're barmy for her, mate."</p><p>"Are you <em> twelve?" </em></p><p>"It's really satisfying watching you lose your mind over the greatest witch you or I have ever known. I wish I had popcorn." Potter crossed his arms. </p><p>"Yet, <em> you </em>fell out of contact with her."</p><p>Potter took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. "It happens. We spent every day of our lives together for, what? Seven years, give or take our summer holidays? Even then, we wrote to each other constantly. The three of us. Joined at the hip, connected by the atom."</p><p>"Bully for you."</p><p>"Everything we did came down to defeating a wizard who I sometimes forget is dead--and I killed him! I have these bloody nightmares," Potter continued. "Wake up with splitting migraines. It's benched me twice this season. It's fucking with my short term memory. If I remember what I had for breakfast, it's a good day."</p><p>"Hmm."</p><p>Potter leaned forward, and spoke quietly. "Did you know I have a tremor? Permanent. I was fined five thousand galleons last year for taking a potion which enables me to just stay on my broom, because they thought it was a steroid. It's just catnip and dittany! </p><p>"And! And!” He held up a finger and waved it around. “I've stopped doing public meet and greets, because the last time I had one, I passed out from pain before I was through the first hour. I'm quite lucky the guards yanked the mob of screaming teenagers off my body before they ripped off my shirt, and realized I'm plastered with lidocaine patches--" he pulled the neck of his jumper to the side, revealing a white felt patch across his pectoral-- "which were mailed to me by my cousin, who has become my mule for all manner of muggle remedies, short of illegal narcotics. Thank the gods for Hannah. I've slept like a child the last few days, and I don't even have to feel guilty about it because she's a medi-witch!"</p><p>Draco remained silent, so Potter took it as encouragement to continue. The blond wasn’t listening so much as he was watching the other man unravel a bit. Harry Potter tended to keep it together. It was a welcome distraction from… everything.</p><p>"I am trying to push through this last season, so I can retire with dignity, but if it weren't for this coup, I'd be on the front page of the Prophet instead of Hermione, for a career-ending accident (likely against Puddlemere) and become a permanent resident of St. Mungo's. As it is, I've had my share of good will from the public, and none of their ire. I'm lucky. Would I could lend it to her."</p><p>"We can't stop them from releasing it." Draco rested his chin in hand.</p><p>Potter shook his head. "I'm afraid not. It's unfortunate. The Prophet's been always unfair to her, especially Skeeter. You know, Skeeter wrote an article when Hermione was promoted into Magical Cooperation? You should look that up in Records. It'll make your blood boil."</p><p>"What is the point of this, Potter?"</p><p>Potter held up his hands. "What I'm... trying, and spectacularly failing to say is... she is my family. Real family, not the facsimile of blood relatives at my disposal, are still there for you no matter how long it has been since you last spoke. It's never been a question of my loving her enough, and I never doubted she cared for me. Hermione's like that. She never leaves you in doubt of how much she cares, a phenomenon into which you seem to be spiraling with impressive speed."</p><p>"What if she doesn't have a choice?" Draco asked before he could stop the words. He let out a slow, ragged breath. </p><p>"The ring?"</p><p>"My mother--" Draco stopped.</p><p>"Go on, man. Your ears are bleeding with my oversharing. What's one personal detail between men?"</p><p>Draco let out a long breath, but Potter nodded at him in such earnest anticipation of the story that he was <em> certain </em> Hermione had shared when he was out of commission, and yet… </p><p>"She was a seer, my mother."</p><p>"Ah..."</p><p>"It seems that, unbeknownst to either Hermione or myself... we're bonded. Somehow, Mother knew it. All of this, us coming together now, is because Narcissa Malfoy deemed it would be so. If she hadn't, then I never--that is, Hermione wouldn't be trapped into this bond, which demands she feel everything I feel. How is she not... terrified of me? Why do I wish she was?"</p><p>"Do you recall how Hermione reacted to Trelawney's prophecies?" Potter scratched his head. </p><p>Draco's head snapped to him as he sorted through their shared experience in Divination class, but his recollection of that time was vague. <em> Third year. Sirius Black had been on the loose, and the ruddy hippogriff nearly took his arm off when his ego got the best of him. </em> No, that was the year he dreamed of the Dementor's Kiss, and spent every personal moment keeping correspondence with his mother. </p><p>"She thought it was hogwash. It's the only school of magic she has actively rejected in the past. She doesn't believe in predestination. She's the least mystical person I know. Everything is hard facts with Hermione, or so I thought."</p><p>"Huh." Draco tried to remember what Hermione's face had appeared when he told her about their prophecy. She had been almost... sanguine about it. It just made her report make sense, it gave credence to her instincts. The fact that there was a prophecy hadn't seemed to phase her. That his mother could be a seer wasn't hogwash. That the ring was calling to her seemed like another facet of their strange connection.</p><p>"What's different?" Draco ran his hands through his hair.</p><p>Potter laughed. "Are you serious? <em> You? </em> I have <em> never </em>seen her like this before."</p><p>"She's desperate." Draco knew better, but saying it protected the pain he felt hearing the truth from Harry Potter's lips.</p><p>"She. Loves. You. She loves a lot of people, but not like this. I swear to Merlin, if you don't fight for that, I might have to step in." Potter smiled in a way that made his eyes flash behind his circular lenses. Draco shook his head.</p><p>"Has anyone told you you're infuriating?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Well, you are."</p><p>"I live to annoy you, Malfoy. You’re tired. You should sleep."</p><p>"Potter... what is your goal in all this?"</p><p>"Why am I <em> pestering </em>you?"</p><p>"Why throw a gala? Why join the Inquisitorial squad? You could've holed up in the bloody flat they profiled in Witch Weekly and had done with it."</p><p>"I have a responsibility."</p><p>"Putting your nose in the middle of a crisis, as usual."</p><p>"Hang on. I'm here because my friend--our <em> brother-in-arms-- </em>asked me for help."</p><p>“Are you worried about them?”</p><p>“Ron and Pansy? Terrified.” Harry’s face fell. “But I know neither one of them will go down without a fight. We haven’t seen the last of them. If nothing else, I’m sure of <em> that.” </em></p><p>Draco nodded. “I saw them. I’m sure they must be alive.” He floated between desperation and reassurance. "There’s no glory in heroics, is there?"</p><p>"Indeed. Where's the glory in fifty missing women and children?" Potter stood. "We’re lucky, Malfoy. We’re not removed from people who love us, wondering if we’ll ever be free again. That's what we're doing here. Together. We've all got our own issues, mate, but there's one thing we all must work for." He held out his hand to Draco.</p><p>Draco slipped his hand into the other man's, and gripped it. The grasp felt like an oath... a little like the absolution he so desperately craved. </p><p>"Where are you sleeping?" Draco asked. They had been provided many options, none of which would afford them much privacy as a contingent. The women and children would remain in the outer rooms of the Headmistress' tower, with cots provided by Madam Pomfrey. The rest were free to choose other accommodations within the castle limits.</p><p>"Longbottom offered me his office," Potter laughed. "I've heard the Hufflepuffs are willing to move into Ravenclaw house to make way for us all. They sent up a little tray of cookies and origami animals for the children."</p><p>"I swear, gossip travels through this place like a disease."</p><p>"Talking portraits who roam from frame-to-frame make certain of that. You?"</p><p>"Wherever Hermione wants." <em> As long as it’s not the bloody Hufflepuff dorm. </em></p><p>Potter fixed him with a look. "I will always take an inordinate amount of joy hearing you say those words, Malfoy."</p><p>"Sod off." Draco stood. "We should discuss how we're going to stay in contact on the road."</p><p>"Patronuses are easy, minimal risk of being intercepted."</p><p>"I'm... not capable of producing a patronus." </p><p>Potter raised an eyebrow "Hermione is. Where she goes, you go. Remember?"</p><p>"Patronus it is." Draco yawned, not of his own volition. "I have... a favor to ask of you."</p><p>"Go on."</p><p>"Owl my barrister--Nolan Davies. Tell him of your plans for the gala, and that you will give him whatever fee suits him for use of the Manor. I will compensate you for it. And... if you would..." Draco trailed off.</p><p>"...Yes?"</p><p>"Tell him I've got another witness."</p><p>"Why don't you owl him yourself?"</p><p>"I'm supposed to be awaiting trial in my flat, twiddling my thumbs."</p><p>"Ah. Consider it done." Potter left the office with one last affirming nod. Draco waited a few moments before departing the room, only to find Hermione sitting with Hannah, bouncing gently with Freddie. He had not thought her so... maternal. He'd dreamed of her pregnant, with his own baby, but never with the babe in arms. To see her holding Weasley's child, who had a little paper bird clutched in her chubby fingers... Hermione caught sight of him and her eyes softened.</p><p>"Where do you want to sleep?" she whispered. </p><p>“What are our options?”</p><p>"Imelda and I will be in here with the others." Hannah nodded to the blonde woman, who was helping Joia settle into her cot with her infant. The rest of the women had laid out their bed mats, and found a tiny bit of normalcy in this unfamiliar place, just as they had done at the Finch-Fletchley house. Necessity was normal for them, and being particular about where they laid their heads at night just wasn’t a part of their routine.</p><p>Draco shrugged. "I'm not picky."</p><p>Hermione gave him the queerest look, and glanced down at the tiny bundle in her arms. "I hope you don't mind, but... I've sort of volunteered to watch Freddie for the night. Let Imelda get some rest."</p><p>He couldn't help himself. Draco smiled. "Whatever you want."</p><p>Hermione pointed to McGonagall's office. Hannah offered Draco two bedrolls and thin pillows, which he took in hand. She clasped his hand, too. It was a kind deference from the widow, who had at all points in their short acquaintance appeared saintly but distant. Sadness pulled at the corners of her eyes, and she released him.</p><p>"We'll find them," Draco urged. Hannah smiled.</p><p>"Of course we will." She gave him a thin blanket, which seemed little more than the imitation of warmth. Still, he took it. "I haven't had a moment to thank you, Draco."</p><p>"Please don't," he breathed. </p><p>Hannah Finch-Fletchley pressed up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Goodnight. I hope you get some rest."</p><p>Draco closed himself and Hermione into the cavernous office, but he was still operating like a man petrified. Hermione stood beneath the window, and a moon too full and luminous to be real. She swayed, rubbing the child's back. Her chin rested on little Freddie's red curls. In the blue light, the ring on her finger shone deeply emerald, and it struck him how very well the color suited her. Her eyes flicked up to his as he brought over their bedrolls, and she winced.</p><p>"Sorry," she murmured. "Imelda was crying about Pansy and Ron. I offered before I thought about it--"</p><p>"She's a baby, not a manticore." Draco unfurled the first bedroll and knelt on it to keep it from curling up again. Of its own volition, the cushion inflated into a makeshift mattress. It wouldn't be luxurious, but at least it wasn't hard wood. The second bedroll was as easy as the first, and when the pillows hit the cushions, they too puffed-up to twice their normal size. Draco felt her eyes on him the entire time, but he didn't look at her until he propped the pillow against the wall and sat down. Her eyes shone in the moonlight.</p><p>"I hurt you." Her voice was ragged with pain.</p><p>Draco patted the cushion beside his. As she knelt, he reached over and pulled the small child from her, at once settling Freddie on his chest with her cheek squished into his jumper. The little creature was warm, and it was centered over his sternum so at <em> once, </em> his limbs felt chilled in comparison to the tiny generator. He wasn’t sure what made him do it. There was a baby asleep on him, and make no mistake.</p><p>Hermione's eyebrows inched for her hairline; she didn't seem to know what to do with her arms when they weren't holding the girl, so she folded them over her middle.</p><p>"You're a natural."</p><p>He sniffed. "Guard the neck, etcetera. <em> Easy. </em> What?"</p><p>She was gaping at him like a fish. He gestured for her to lean closer, and when she did, he pulled her to him. He kissed her over the child's head. </p><p>"Were you afraid to be alone with me after what happened?" he asked quietly. </p><p>"I'm ashamed to say I was." She dropped her head until her forehead was pressed against his shoulder. He kissed her hair, and adjusted his hold on the baby, so he could wrap his other arm around Hermione. She covered them both with the blanket. Freddie's tiny feet were covered, too.</p><p>"I am not so changeable, Hermione." </p><p>She huffed into his neck. "I know."</p><p>Freddie moved, flailing her hands a bit. Draco's massive hand dwarfed her, but he soothed little circles on her back. The child settled again. Hermione laid her hand over his, so both of their fingers touched the cotton of Freddie's onesie. </p><p>Unbidden, that dream crept into his mind again. He knew she was occluding still, because she didn't react when the image of herself with a round belly by the sea made roost in his head. What if they had one of these tiny not-manticores of their own? One with white-blonde curls instead of red?</p><p>What if she carried his child, when life was different--better? They'd have a little one of their own to lose sleep over. Not Ron Weasley's baby, not his brother's sweet little girl, but one who shared the best parts of Hermione and himself.</p><p>Of all the thoughts he had about her, in all the hundreds of hours he had spent imagining what kind of life they could have in a world such as this... that was the most hopeful one.</p><p>"You have a calming effect on her," Hermione whispered.</p><p>"I have never known calm," he realized. He hugged her around the waist, and his chin found the crown of her head. "Until you."</p><p>Her fingers grazed his jaw. "I love you, too."</p><p>His stomach flipped. "We'll figure out why you... <em> burned </em>me." </p><p>"At least it felt different than fiendfyre." </p><p>“Yes." His perfect fury, as she called it… it was still a kind of poison. She would build her immunity to it… wouldn’t she?</p><p>"I still feel it. Your anger. It's just... bubbling beneath the surface. Ever-present, and yet you keep so composed. It makes me wonder." </p><p>"Why I <em> don't </em>give in?" </p><p>She nodded. “McGonagall couldn’t ruffle you.”</p><p>“I was <em> hardly </em>composed.”</p><p>“How do you bear it?” She sounded as if she wanted to cry. He turned his nose into her hair. Lilac, sweet and perfect lilac.</p><p>"I sit with it. I let it wash over me. I let it go." </p><p>Hermione linked their fingers. "You're strong." </p><p>Draco huffed. "Will you testify at my sentencing?" He willed the words to come before he could chicken out. Somehow they were still easier to say than the three words she recited with no trouble. But that felt like just the sort of thing to ask of a woman, when you had nearly been turned to a crisp by a crazed zealot... other than asking her to love you. Which... Draco didn't have the bravery to do. But she did it anyway.</p><p>Hermione pulled back enough to look him in the eye. She was so beautiful, so loving, so righteous in her beliefs, and in that moment, she was perfect. "I will."</p><p>"That's a relief, because I had Potter owl my barrister, to say I have a new witness." He smiled as her face turned joyful.</p><p>"You knew I'd say yes."</p><p>"I hoped. Thank you."</p><p>"Anything to keep you from--"</p><p>He kissed her. "Don't qualify it. It's not a big deal."</p><p>"It is to me."</p><p>"Everything is a big deal to you. <em> Hey!" </em></p><p>She had pinched his arm, but him jumping made Freddie stir. He mock-glared at Hermione, brushing the child's hair until she settled back to sleep. For all they had shared, and would share… this was a sweet moment amongst uncertain tidings.</p><p>Even as he sought her, urged her to open their mental link, he knew where her mind kept wandering. Maybe it would be alright, if they didn’t pretend it wasn’t happening.</p><p>“I saw them escape. For what it’s worth.”</p><p>With her gaze affixed to the child’s petite features, the sentiment washed over Hermione from heart-outwards. Relief, grief, concern, and hope… they met in her, and her wall of occlusion fell back into the black sea, welcoming his flame (and only his) to her feet. </p><p>She wept. He let her.</p><p>He nodded to the other pillow. Hermione propped it up behind herself and lay with her head on his shoulder. It wasn't comfortable, per se, but at least they were safe. Not much more passed between them, but before she lost consciousness, Draco heard Hermione whisper something small:</p><p>"You'd make a good father."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so so much, once again. I love you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wales. Nothing is what it seems, and more than one ally is recovered.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*blinks blearily at you* You're still here?! Bless you. </p><p>Huge huge huge shoutout to my Alpha reader, @pink_wednesdays for gently nudging me to finish my update, and giving me truly the BEST notes to get me on track. I literally couldn't do it without her. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ron’s hair fell over his left eye, didn’t it? When it wasn’t gelled, when he was thinking too hard or kissing Freddie’s hair, and it gave in to gravity. That cowlick at his right temple forced his ginger hair to swoop always leftward. Either way, the version of Ron she had found dead in her dream… his hair had been caked with blood, or maybe sweat or rain, and it had taken her kneeling beside his body to even discern it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Pansy had been crumpled beneath him. Like he had thrown himself over her in defense of gods know what, but it hadn’t been enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teeth gnashed in the dark, whenever she wasn’t dreaming of her friends. One time a cry woke her, but she couldn’t tell whether it was Freddie or a figment of her imagination. Both, neither. Every time her eyes fluttered open in concern, slate grey irises stared at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione shook her head but the image was imprinted into her retinas. Those eyes used to live in the skull of a monster in the night, but then she learned to love him and somehow, his gaze only grew fiercer. His eyes came with a blue flame which sought her across the darkest waters, kept her back from the verge of danger because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>her, he knew so many deep and complex things and secrets, and he was like a doorway on the edge of knowing. To be beheld by Draco Malfoy’s gaze was to be at the precipice of her whole world--a world which was one crack away from shattering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been no communication from Pansy or Ron, and it was easy to let the dread seep in, like the way the cold and dampness infiltrated her bones so early in the Welsh morning. Dread wasn’t an emotion so much as a warning: do nothing to save them, and your dream will come true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had felt wrong to don the grey Auror’s robes provided by the Headmistress, to hand Freddie off to Hannah, to take the portkey to Wales and run head-first towards uncertainty when they were so unsure where Pansy and Ron might be, but Justin had been adamant about the possible locations of the missing women and their attention must be diverted.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are we sending them to their death? What if they’re in Sussex, or the Love Chamber of the Ministry, or buried in the charred rubble of the Finch-Fletchley house, and we’re swanning off to Wales for people we don’t even love?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Intrusive and unfounded as it was, when the query crossed her brain, Draco had gone stone-faced. She didn’t mean it, she told him so, he said he believed her, but… she couldn’t help but wonder if he was punishing her for thinking such a thing. Draco, too, worried over their friends. He had risen long before her, seen Harry off, and spent a considerable amount of time speaking with Hannah in the outer room of McGonagall’s office. For once, Draco didn’t seem equipped for whatever befell them. The prospect of losing not only Pansy </span>
  <em>
    <span>once again,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but losing a man who had come to be a brother to him… it was paralyzing. His inner murmurings became short, quiet. His flame was cool. He jumped when she touched him, and when he kissed her, his lips quivered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco was shaken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At McGonagall’s behest, their Auror contacts had pin-pointed MacAfee’s whereabouts to an itinerary, which meant he would be at the harbor, boarding a ship for Ireland, that very morning. McGonagall owled Hermione mere moments after she had briefed the Inquisitorial committee on the situation with strict instructions on where they were to meet their contact in Wales.They had only arrived in Wales an hour prior, but lying in wait made time stretch on in infinite waves of anxiety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wind carved through the empty masts with an agonizing groan, calling for the boats to set their sails and meet the challenge on the water. Boats wouldn't be dry docked until November, but the slipway bore a sheen of icy dew. The grey waters were repellent under the cover of grey skies. Hardly any unchartered vessels navigated the Irish sea this late. Empty boats named things like 'Hobie Herman's Hideaway' bobbed by the docks to pass away the time, while ferry boats named 'The James Joyce' and 'Pride of Ireland' shuffled through the foam like clockwork, from mid-morning to mid-afternoon. MacAfee's affreightment indicated that a small sloop was hired, casting off from Dock 9 at six am. An Auror presence had been established closer to five. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The harbor was deserted. Draco and Hermione were assigned to the first group, who would be approaching the boat once MacAfee was onboard. Group two took their posts on surrounding boats, each entrance to the car park, and in the warehouse, which would cover every possible exit point in case the subject fled the location.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione worked her wand's grip as if she couldn't remember how to hold the thing. She couldn’t focus. They were seated, her and Draco, in the back of a rented hatchback. Their breath made the windows of the little car fog, so Draco kept swiping his sleeve over the passenger side window, which faced Dock 9.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took Hermione back to the early days, back when she dreaded his shadow, before she knew how his hands felt on her body and that her soul was bonded to his, before she learned that he was vibrant and loving and the one being in the whole world with whom she shared her true feelings… back to when he stressed in secret, and kept all his fears to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched his jaw tighten. His hand raised to wipe away the fog from his last exhalation, tendons dancing under his skin. Draco’s hair had gotten a bit longer since they came together; if he had cut it with regularity before, he certainly didn’t now, so it had taken on the slightest wave. It wasn’t stick-straight like his father’s famous locks. She wondered if he knew how different he was from Lucius Malfoy. He took great strides to distance himself from the comparison, but… she hoped he was cognizant of the rift between the right hand of the Dark Lord, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Father in biology only.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart beat, for one thing, and he had learned in recent times to let other people see that about him. She wasn’t the only one, either. If Pansy and Ron could not be recovered, Hermione had the distinct impression that Draco would never be the same. Who was she kidding? There could be nothing worse for either of them. She was struck with a desperately sad realization:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This </span>
  </em>
  <span>was how it felt for the adults in The Order of the Phoenix. To lose so many of their chosen family, to be outnumbered by their dead members… her heart sat in her throat. In some ways, she owed her life to the Order members who came before. Another sad thought struck her, this time beneath the ribs, enough to make her gasp and draw Draco’s attention: </span>
  <em>
    <span>why, when seeing how Draco had struggled, in seeing him fail in his task to kill Dumbledore… Why didn’t the Order help him?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was a young boy, same age as Harry, same blood purity as Ron, same fear and desperate need for safety as her… same family lineage as Sirius. Why wasn’t he worth trying to save? Why didn’t Albus Dumbledore see him for what he was and try to protect him?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not worth it, Hermione. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She closed her eyes at the timbre of his voice in her head--so soothing and yet concerned, even as he radiated another emotion entirely. Was it… pain? He slid between their bond and verbal conversation so seamlessly, but when he spoke in her mind, she was privy to the full spectrum of his emotions, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why didn’t he help you?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her head fell against his shoulder. For a moment, he didn’t move, but she felt his lips on her forehead. She missed the clove essence which clung to his woolen coat; these robes smelled like they’d been hanging in a closet for a long time. Draco nosed her temple.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was neither as good as you thought, or as corrupt as you’re now imagining. It wasn’t his job to reach out to me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes it was. He had a responsibility as the Headmaster, as an adult in power, with you being his student--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, well, my parents were supposed to protect me, too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She breathed out sharply. Her eyes fluttered open and he considered her with a furrowed brow. He kissed her forehead again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What brought this on?” he whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were listening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not the whole time.” Draco’s mouth turned up at one corner. “You’re worried about our friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm. I just… is this the pattern we’re doomed to repeat? Every decade or so, some new dark threat arises, so we gather together in secret organizations and pray that we don’t lose anyone or get attacked? And people who aren’t our loved ones are just, what… collateral damage?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chucked her chin. “You don’t need to be angry on my behalf. I wouldn’t have accepted help back then, anyhow. It wouldn’t have seemed like ‘help’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think--” Hermione looked away. “If you had, though. Accepted help…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would I have been able to spend the last ten years with you?” Draco’s whole demeanor changed as she faintly nodded, and he drew her into his side, engulfing her in his warmth. “No, I wouldn’t have.” He sighed. “For better or for worse, Granger… there wasn’t space for you between my hatred of my father and fear for my mother’s safety. I couldn’t even see you until Weasley dangled you in front of me like a carrot, even knowing the prophecy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a prize--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you are, little moth. I won.” Draco tilted her chin, and slotted their lips in kind.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Were circumstances different, this would be quite romantic," Hermione hummed. His eyes darkened. Within the confines of the small car, he appeared even larger than usual, and his stare made her feel warm and small. She smiled. "What, Malfoy? Never snogged in a car?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Starting to think you have," he growled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jealous?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Irredeemably." His gaze snapped back to the fogged window, but his hand made circles on her thigh. He attempted to wrangle some welling affection, and it was not the time or place to push him about it, so she merely patted his cheek and sat back. He coughed, and attempted to avoid adjusting himself despite his legs stiffening. Draco squeezed her knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Once we’re able to question MacAfee, we’ll hunt for Pansy and the Weasel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not done with this topic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What--you necking other blokes in the back of cars, or whether or not Albus Dumbledore was an imcompetant--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both.” She gave him a half-hearted warning glare about disparaging their deceased Headmaster in such a way. He sat straighter and plucked her hand from her lap. His thumb memorized her knuckles. The little square of glass became translucent as he swiped at it. They fell into silence for a few minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If this comes to blows, remember: turn your core away from a direct attack," he said, when the anticipation and silence became too much. "Better to be caught in the side if need be. Never turn your back on him--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not intending to duel John MacAfee, right here, out in the open."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"McGonagall sent a handful of Unspeakables with the Aurors, which she wouldn't have done if she thought this was a simple retrieval."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Truly?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pointed a spindly finger. A shadowed person stood on a dinghy two slots over from the 'Bounty of the Siren', the only sloop on Dock 9 and the only boat which MacAfee could’ve chartered. Another figure crouched under the cathead of a bowrider, which had a massive windscreen that reflected the glow from the lamp posts. Still two more wizards waited in another car across the way, with blacked-out windows. Nothing distinguished the Unspeakables from the others except Draco pointing them out. He knew them all, and Hermione could learn their identities if she prodded. An impulse grew within her to push a little deeper, but he took oaths to safeguard information, and the fact that she was linked to him put his information at risk. But he didn't banish her from his side, nor did he drain the sea between them to keep her away from the temptation. She had so many ideas, now that their bond manifested in other ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well. I suppose I should be glad you’re not the only Unspeakable with us. Not that you couldn’t handle it.” She bumped his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He covered her hand, but ignored the compliment. "Let them take the lead. We will enter the fray only if it's safe."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew that--she had been there when Auror Klein had briefed them in the back of the old flower shop, into which their portkey had deposited them--but hearing it made blood rush into her ears. "What’s our cue?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Blue sparks over the Bounty." Draco unsleeved his wand and picked at the leather grip without looking at it. How many operations had he been a part of, which required him to watch for blue sparks from a safe distance? The danger felt both inevitable and unlikely.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gods.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was all so bizarre.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Weren’t they just… sitting together, reliving old trauma… holding onto each other for purchase in the back of a Muggle automobile? Waiting for nothing and no one. Worrying about their friends. Waiting to get their bearings? It didn’t seem real, what they were doing. An operation, in Wales, with a host of backup Aurors and Unspeakables and cues and a potential </span>
  <em>
    <span>fight…</span>
  </em>
  <span> all while the women kept safe at Hogwarts, while Harry sat on the Inquisitorial committee and planned a gala, which would likely take place at Malfoy Manor. What in Merlin’s name was happening?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Headlights glinted off the rear view mirror at 5:58. Hermione pressed on her knees. Draco leaned back so the frame of the car masked his profile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A carrier van with blacked-out license plates parked along the side of the warehouse, which was fifty or so paces from the gate to Dock 9. A figure darted from the driver's seat to the other side and pulled on a sliding door, which opened slowly--a dim light turned on inside the van, illuminating the passengers from behind. The vehicle was full to capacity. The driver assisted as each person disembarked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Two children," Draco whispered. "Male driver."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"MacAfee?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fits his build, though the cap throws me off. I've never been in the same room as him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let me see." Hermione leaned over and peeked through the small square Draco cleared in the foggy glass. The man was the right height, near her own stature, with a rounded stomach and a pronounced hunch. He wasn't an old man, but John MacAfee had suffered a cruciatus during the war and had always limped as long as Hermione had known him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He limps like MacAfee," she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Must be him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacAfee wrapped an arm around a woman and gestured behind him. The small party shuffled for the gate; several members carried bags over their shoulders. As soon as they entered the beam of a street light, MacAfee held his hand aloft and the light retreated into his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Deluminator," Hermione noted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mm."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Smart."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacAfee ushered the people--five women and two children--through the gate and down the steps. They disappeared from view once at dock level. Two minutes passed. Nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are we moving in?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Give them a moment," Draco said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just above the top stair, the silhouette of a head emerged. The figure’s arm raised, stabbing upwards. He had a wand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air deadened. Hermione's breath caught just as their allies’ blacked-out car erupted in flames. </span>
  <em>
    <span>BOOM!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco shoved Hermione to the opposite side of their vehicle, crushing her to the seat in the process as another firebomb hit the hatchback's tire. The force propelled the car upwards. Draco yanked the door handle. She fell hard against the pavement, and the wind pushed out of her lungs. She gasped for air. Draco braced himself over her. His head bled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>BOOM! </span>
  </em>
  <span>The car they had just occupied launched into the air. Headlights shone from the heavens. Hermione aimed her wand at the sky, but her mind went blank.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bombarda maxima!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Golden light erupted from the end of her wand. The hatchback detonated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Protego!" Hermione screamed. The molten metal rained on the invisible shield. A green light tickled the energy force--a spell which was no match for the shield. Draco hauled her to her feet, enabling Hermione to keep her hand outstretched. He wrapped his fingers around hers, his blue light flickered to life in her mind, her moth kissed him, and the shield shattered. The force flung the killing curse back at its caster. The wizard in black robes did not seem affected. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell was that?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her surprise flickered across their bond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco had enough time to draw his own wand and take his stance, back-to-back with Hermione. He reached back for her free hand. Black cloaks crowded the dock. Electric beams from spells flashed. Hermione’s ribs were bruised, but she steadied her breathing. Between her palm and Draco’s, heat grew. It felt kinetic and raw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Casting… together? Combined magic, not just pulling a spell from his memory but </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> of their magic at </span>
  <em>
    <span>one time!</span>
  </em>
  <span> And the same heat from when she burned him, but this time… he held it with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was quite a blast, Ms. Granger.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He gripped her hand so tightly that her fingers felt chilled, even as the warmth between them grew.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We're strong together.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Guard your core.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You're my core.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hermione--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Impedimenta!" Hermione's attacker halted in his tracks, bathed in turquoise. He returned fire, something piercing and silvery. She deflected. Draco winced, and his flame flared higher before searing with intent to return fire. Her hand tightened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Protego maxima!</span>
  </em>
  <span> The two were bubbled in once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought they didn't use wands," she wheezed. The six Jawless who surrounded them most certainly brandished wands, and silver masks obscured their faces. Gods, what a sight they were. Demonic spectral creatures and men, and a bad memory, and a nightmare, and yet entirely new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A voice cried out in the crisp air. Red sparks rocketed from the sloop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco growled. "We have to get to the boat."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll cover you. Blow your way through."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Us," she corrected. He laced their fingers together. "Go!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco bubbled, Hermione unleashed--not </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bombarda</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>Revelio.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Black cloaks fell like stones. There weren't bodies in them. The silver masks fell into puddles of black fabric.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ignore the rest of the wands, run! </span>
  </em>
  <span>She implored him to do as she asked, and they sprinted for the dock, where Auror Klein gestured to them, firing off a series of charms towards the car park to dispel the facsimiles of attackers. At once, the mayhem ceased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're dummies," she panted, bracing on her knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” Draco nodded to the sloop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klein waved them through the gate. "Driver’s dead."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who conjured those robed figures?" Hermione asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The driver,” Klein said. “Once the women were on the boat, he turned back like he had forgotten something in the van, but Auror Briggs opened his door and the driver got spooked. Spells seemed to be some sort of elementary fireworks on a motion-trigger. The firebombs were real.” She indicated the charred remains of the black car. Her face was stony, but she fixed Draco with an expression, which telegraphed everything. Briggs had paid grievously for his error. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He summoned the cloaks from the van--it’s a puppetry spell, rudimentary but visually effective. Then he blew the first car, and when he realized you were trying to flee the other one, he abandoned all other plans and blew the second. He was taken down by one of his captives. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Avada</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the back.” Klein stepped around a coiled bit of rope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“MacAfee?” Draco asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. A good likeness, but definitely not him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are the women alright?” Hermione touched Klein’s elbow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re safe." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klein whistled once. Aurors raced to the fallen cloaks, the smoldering cars, every single piece of evidence that an attack occurred. Soon, the car park would bear no marks of the activity other than scorch marks on the ground. Two Aurors apparated away from the scene with a pair of fallen allies, including Auror Briggs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco nudged Hermione’s shoulder, shaking her out of her stupor. She rushed for the boat, and Klein helped her onboard. The state of things below deck was something to behold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A woman in pedestrian clothing pressed her wand to the neck of the dead MacAfee look-alike who was laid out on a cramped wooden bench. The Unspeakables were questioning the four other women, all of whom clutched wands of their own. So, not stripped of their wands after all. One of the children, six years old at most, comforted a toddler with sweet pats. The Unspeakables’ faces were unremarkable. Their taboos were powerful. Hermione couldn't focus on them for long without starting to lose it and project the identities of more familiar acquaintances where their features lay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione’s panic rose. Draco… </span>
  <em>
    <span>What happened to his taboo? He doesn’t affect anyone else the way these Unspeakables do. When did that change?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No… his appearance had never affected her like this, distorting his face and making him hard to see or perceive like he had spoken of at the beginning of their arrangement. It wasn’t just that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> could see him normally, so could </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone else.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Why had she never realized it?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Granger. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Draco’s gruff tone broke through her daze, but he wasn’t looking at her. His flame was hot and leaping, urging her back to reality. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Focus.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve never had a taboo.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I did, before Gringotts. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not to me--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I could control it, Hermione. What good would it have done me if you were affected by it? Would you please focus--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please, tell me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt him sigh like a whisper of frustration over their shared dark waters. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know why it’s gone. It just is.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He swung his head around, face impassive and features sharper than ever. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Granger,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he said through gritted teeth. She blushed when several faces turned to look at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman who held the driver’s body captive smiled at Hermione, an arresting sight for the guardian of a corpse. “Are you Hermione Granger?” Her dialect was concise and clipped. A Russian accent peeked through. Dark hair chopped into a blunt bob--it would rival Pansy’s coiffure for precision--and light brown skin. The muggle-born witch who had so long lived only as a tiny photograph in Hermione’s files stood before her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sofia Sidorov?” Hermione questioned. The woman wagged her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fat load of good your report did us,” she said, but she winked. “Nice to put a face to the brief.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione glanced at Draco, who spoke quietly with Klein. She held out her hand to the woman she had been pursuing by name through a trail of paperwork for the better part of a year. Sofia closed her fingers around Hermione’s palm and squeezed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you know?” Hermione murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John knew you were on to him. He suspected when it was published.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione blinked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>John? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She gestured to the dead man. “Who’s this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sofia shrugged. “Never saw his true face before he took the potion. I didn’t want to overtake him until we were at sea, but he got spooked by your friends, there.” Only then did Hermione allow herself to actually observe the body, which Sofia seemed to be monitoring with her wand in some way. The face was a perfect copy of John MacAffee, but it seemed like the skin stretched over the wrong bones; whoever the man was under the polyjuice, he was a far different stature than the older wizard. Taller. Bulkier, like he had to hunch to impersonate MacAfee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know he was an imposter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From the start. When you love someone, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, Hermione knew from experience, but John MacAfee was a monster. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wasn’t he?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Where’s MacAfee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Ministry, I’m guessing.” Sofia swallowed hard. “That’s what Carrow always intended. Doubtful we’ll find him in time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that this man isn’t a danger to us, I…” Sofia trailed off and glanced at the man, who bore the face of the wizard she had admitted to loving. It boggled the mind. “I have to try. He would do it for me--he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione frowned. “The Jawless found you at the hotel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We knew they would catch up to us eventually. John hoped to bait them to Ireland. We have allies there, and Carrow doesn’t like to stray far from London. But they took John when they found us, and now he’s dead in the Ministry of Magic, or soon will be.” Sofia’s shoulders hunched. “I promised these ladies--” she gestured to her friends and the children-- “that they’d make it to Dublin today. Please help me make that happen, and I will do what I can to help you find John.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you heard anything about an attack at the Finch-Fletchley house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sofia shook her head. “John stopped receiving any regular correspondence from the Jawless once the brief came out. We haven’t been privy to anything that has happened since.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.” Hermione couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Sofia clicked her tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were fire-bombed and had to flee to Hogwarts. Two of our friends are missing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have reason to believe they’re alive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question stuck her lick a thorn. “Draco saw them disapparate, but we haven’t been able to contact them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I can help you find them, I will.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you,” Hermione breathed raggedly. “Give me a moment?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Certainly.” Sofia stepped aside to let her by. Hermione waved to Draco. He followed her up to the deck. The morning was bathed in full-blues, and Draco’s breath swirled around his face as he let out a whoosh of frustration</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're baiting us to the Love Chamber,” he said. “I would bet the Aurors found nothing in Sussex." His forehead still bore a weeping cut, though the bleeding had mostly subsided. Hermione raised her wand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Episkey.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The wound knitted shut, and he pressed his eyes closed as his headache relented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’m not sure what I expected but, an army of charmed cloaks wasn’t it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've only seen it done once, and not to that degree of success. He was prepared to make a run for it, but not a fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d think their polyjuice supply was endless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fear there may be more Jawless among the women for that reason."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione folded her arms. "What about using </span>
  <em>
    <span>Revelio?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Revelio</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn't work on potions-based concealment or disguise," he said. "But there's one way to know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco fixed her with a hard, frustrated stare. "Legilimency."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Should be easy. You take one, I'll take one... we'll be done in a matter of minutes--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's dangerous on children, for one thing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So we don't examine the children--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've only ever tried on me, a skilled Occlumens," he said. "You could incapacitate someone easily by digging in their head."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes. "So you do it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"...you're the only person I've ever done it with." At that admission, Draco scratched his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry... you can't be serious." Her jaw squeaked at the hinges in disbelief. "You </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>used Legilimency before you poked around in my head."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course I used Legilimency before, just... not on someone willing, until you. And--</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck!"</span>
  </em>
  <span> He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I don't want to hurt any of them. But I might."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tell me more." She reached out for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We don't have time," he sighed. "I just..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Explain to them why, ask for their consent. It won't take much. Please try..." Hermione brushed his arm. "They need us."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco pulled her to his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe... you can help me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His arms tightened around her. She was a buoy.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Always. She… she doesn’t know anything about Ron or Pansy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was worth asking.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Below deck, Hermione pulled Sofia to the side first and explained their plan, that they needed to be sure of who the women were. She consented to the idea on the condition Hermione remain by her side, and encouraged the others to agree. Sofia went first to show them it was safe. Hermione gleaned as much through the bond as Draco searched. He began by introducing the flame, telling her things which might help her be more comfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just tell me about yourself," he said. Once she relaxed, the story unfolded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was Sofia Sidorov: born in St. Petersburg, from Muggle parents, attended Durmstrang. Her reasons for leaving Russia were less simple, but little flashes showed through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A man in black robes and a silver mask attacking her parents' home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleeing to a flat in Moscow, banging on the door... John MacAfee answering, falling into his arms. Being held by him. Concealing her wand in her luggage, traveling to Hungary with MacAfee, and meeting with a group of women who were responsible for helping each other stay alive. She was fierce and powerful, and duelled like hell at every opportunity, and MacAfee always accompanied her. And then Wales... getting women on a boat, watching them sail away. She was so accustomed to helping them and relying on MacAfee. Every pang of pain or concern she shared seared through his mind. But then...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As painful things came up, Draco's flame smothered itself, smoothed over the edges of the jagged feelings, not so they ignited, but so they lessened. When he concluded his observation, Sofia peered up at him with determined, tear-filled eyes. She cupped his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It doesn't hurt so bad." Her voice came out soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other three women followed in kind--Marina, Lyubov, and Verlie. Each one came away from Draco with tears in their eyes, and nearly-impossible to voice gratitude. Through their bond, Draco exuded confusion about their reactions to the Legilimency, but there was something else... it was as if his flame sealed away the damage of their memories. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like he healed them.</span>
  </em>
  <span> As she thought it, Draco frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is it so impossible to believe?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Draco could reply, Sofia held her hand out to Hermione. It drew attention away from Draco, enough that he could stand up and gulp a glass of water offered by Verlie. Hermione allowed herself to be distracted but kept him in her peripherals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sofia sniffed. “I nearly forgot about this. We stole it in the midst of the attack at the hotel. Carrow had it on his belt like a trophy.” She snorted. “I’m supposed to give this to the author of the Matryoshka Brief. The last thing John said to me before his doppelganger ripped me away was that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’d know what to do with it.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her eyes sparkled in acknowledgment. Whatever she held was no larger than a remembrall, but Hermione couldn’t see what it was, just that it was glass with a silver lid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Imelda had a large part in the writing,” Hermione offered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sofia’s whole demeanor brightened. “She’s alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brilliant. She’s safe at Hogwarts with the others.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who else? Please--I can’t believe she’s alive,” Sofia sniffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s thriving.” Hermione clasped the woman’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My sister.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Who else is with her, how many of them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione could have burst with joy to share their success, despite the attack. Not <em>theirs,</em> but Justin's legacy carried on by his wife, of protecting every woman or child in their care. Draco’s hand hovered at the small of Hermione's back, magnetized as he was as she telegraphed the feeling of pride. “Um. Joia and her little one, Miri, Alanna, Lev, Vere, Wava and the little boys, Neva, Diane, Brinn and Dominick, and Kristine. Hannah, Justin Finch-Fletchley’s wife, too, and Annika’s little girl Fredericka.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sofia grasped Hermione’s wrist and turned it so she could accept the offering. She was near-tears. “That means almost everyone is accounted for, at least those who I’m aware of. Oh, this is… the first time in months I’ve felt like this might soon end.” Sofia released her gift into Hermione’s care and stepped back to discreetly wipe her eyes. The next thing she said was mellow, but clear: “One more for you to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost everyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ireland is a big place and we’ve been working hard.” Sofia smiled. “There are only a handful left that we haven’t located. Oh--the poor thing looks hungry, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione froze. In the cradle of her fingers sat a small canning jar, and inside… a beetle. It didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>like it was set to detonate. It was a scarab beetle, which attempted to crawl up the sides of a jar, only to slide right back to the bottom. The little thing only had four legs. If Hermione didn’t know any better, she could’ve sworn she met one like that before, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> creature was an unregistered animagus and it had all six of it’s spindly little limbs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> beetle was the editor of the Daily Prophet. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why is Carrow giving me familiars?</span>
  </em>
  <span> First a crow with a stomach ache, and then a beetle with missing legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rita?” she whispered. The beetle gave no indication that it understood her, but the tips of each leg were painted in a faint pink spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never in her life did Hermione anticipate being happy to see Rita Skeeter in any form, but the world was upside-down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Klein has chosen a few Aurors to accompany the ship to Dublin,” Draco said lowly, but all Hermione could do was nod. “But before they go, we’re going to attempt an identification on the body. Klein will oversee the delivery to the Wizengamot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco pulled Hermione over to the group, always keeping a hand on her shoulder. Sofia insisted on gathering with the others around the body, though Marina and Lyubov helped Verlie distract the children from seeing more than they needed to in such a confined space. Three Unspeakables and Draco levelled their wands over the corpse’s head. Hermione clutched the jar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silvery memories were sapped from the brain of the dead man. It only took a few minutes hunched over the memory floating in a water pitcher to identify him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Bounty of the Siren sailed away without another incident. Nobody waved from the deck. Standing at the end of Dock 9, with a jar in one hand and her wand in the other, Hermione sent her patronus to Harry, using the memory of Draco awakening safely (all of </span>
  <em>
    <span>the day prior </span>
  </em>
  <span>from her run-in with Gregory Goyle’s knife) to propel her silvery-blue otter with a stark message:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Returning to Hogwarts this afternoon. Sofia Sidorov and six others were kept from harm. Rita Skeeter is also alive, and under our protection. John MacAfee is in Carrow’s hands. Ministry suspected. Kingsley Shacklebolt was disguised as the MacAfee using polyjuice; he attacked us and succeeded in killing two Aurors. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The former Minister is dead.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Join me on Tumblr at TheSuperJane! Thanks so much for reading, it means a lot to me.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Idk where this came from--I have several other ideas percolating, but this just popped up and needed to be in existence! Eventual smut and such things will occur. Enjoy!</p><p>Un-Brit-picked (excuse the Americanized spellings), but beta'd by AutoCrit.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>